Facing the Summer

As you can tell, Fiorella is still trying to get her mojo back after it was kicked to the floor by the reenactment of the UT Tower shooting, the one that hung over her family unto the third generation. Everyone tells her that she must move on, but that's hard to do when you're carrying a double load and fearful of a triple. Nevertheless, they are right---she must move on. But how? Your girl has four major talents, as you know--music, art, languages, and literature--but can't seem to grab hold of any of them right now. Carpal tunnel has crippled her piano playing, she doesn't have an outlet for her art, her attempt to pick up German again went terribly astray, and every time she tries to work on a new story, something intervenes. It's like being in jail.

Sorry if Fio is getting repetitive, but nothing new and interesting seems to come her way. Maybe it's because of the lingering Covid and its offsprings that hold us all apart from each other, or maybe it's because your girl doesn't have instant transportation available. 

This is the time of year when everyone in Texas when everyone turns on the air conditioning, the pets are called inside, and, on the sizzling sidewalk, dead worms are curled into circles as if reaching for their tails. One can almost feel sorry for them.

MEMORIES: A flash of nostalgia just whipped through your girl. This is also the time of year that, with school out, Fiorella gathered together her cohorts and masterminded little shows for their parents on the Paule's patio or the Hicks's sedentary round-about. (Fio's parents' yard sank too much toward the alley to be a workable stage.)

Hmm...the local cat is supposed to be a male, but Fio has just spotted nipples on him all the way down. Maybe he/she got fixed.