Bras, Kardashians, Estela Carrillo, Trump, Afterlife

How do men survive without bras? Fio stores her glasses, credit card, car keys, lipstick, and a couple of Kleenexes in her bra while she's out gadding about. Good thing she doesn't have go through any metal detectors.
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Fiorella is tired of the stupid Trump family. She wants everything back to normal--you know, with the Kardashians being the dopiest family on television.
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Fio will admit she herself has been around long enough to know it's true that what goes around comes around, like names, fashion, politics, and philosophies. Nothing new under the sun, as they say. Hey--maybe that will apply to people too. See you in your next life!
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La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo is drawing to its inevitable close, but it's still spitting out screwball drama. Danilo knocked out Estela with an anesthetic for horses so he could rape her, but she doesn't know it yet because she was--well--knocked out. That boy's getting more and more vicious--remember that he strangled Tommy to death last week--and there's not much further he can go, though it might be a good idea if, on his way out, he took down Mr. Green, the evil Americano politician who held Estela and her daughter captive for a week or so.
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What if Trump once upon a time had a brain of his own which was replaced by a Russian model installed by Putin and is operated by Melania?

Creativity vs. Analysis

Fiorella saw something on the internet the other day that referred to the creative mind vs. the analytical mind, as if the two were polar opposites.  Apples and oranges, people.  Creativity and analysis function easily in the same fruit bowl, as when an artist analyzes lines, relationships, and relatives tones of color.  As when a novelist plots out the ebb and swell of the story.  As when a scientist works out new ways to observe the world and the universe.

And while we're at it, let's also get rid of those stupid right brain.left brain designations.

DBS?

Yes, Fiorella is frustrated.  She's developed essential tremor of the vocal chords, which makes it difficult for her to speak.  Yes, Fio, who acted in plays and taught colleges classes and presided over PTA meetings, sounds like crap, and it's getting worse.  Deep Brain Stimulation--is it for Fio?

Donald, Donald, Donald

Donald Trump is trying to buy the presidency, and everyone knows it's for sale, that the candidate with the bigger war chest wins.  Why else is Fio's email inbox overflowing with pleas for donations?
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The one good thing Fiorella can say about The Donald is that he's running on his own dime.  But that also means he doesn't have to answer to anybody.  Yes, he's free to bash anybody he wants to--and he does. Brown people, women people, hero people.
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A lot of people comment about his hair, but Fio is more concerned about what doesn't lie under it.

Respite

Fiorella took the day off yesterday.  Well, she'd developed a bad headache and pretty much had to, but, like many bad things, it worked out for the best.  Her brain had been blasted on Tuesday by working on the taxes.  And she's been doing catch-up stuff after writing night and day for a couple of months there. But yesterday, all she did was drive off for a photofacial, which is relaxing in itself, then spend the rest of the the day watching dumb television, and drowsing.  Oh--and Husband took her out for a steak dinner.

But today, she'll hit the old grindstone again.  Her list is waiting.

Personal

Did you read about those position-tracking brain cells we all supposedly have?  The ones the discoverers got a Nobel Prize for? Well, Husband has them in abundance.  Fio doesn't.  As Fiorella has often said, she is geographically challenged.

Wordless

Of course, the idea that people think in words is ridiculous.  Every time Fiorella accords her characters interior dialogues, it's fiction.  People think in--well--thoughts, splotches of conjecture, sometimes inspired and immediate, sometimes long and drawn out.  When Fio plots out her romances, she starts with the relationship between the two leads, then opens her mind to whatever would logically follow, then tries to record what her inarticulate brain has told her.  When she is painting, she goes into the zone and lets her hand do the walkin'.  When she encounters life problems, she goes totally cold and lets her id/ego/anima/whatever take over.

Words are an artificial construct that we use to try to communicate the essence of our thoughts, but sometimes they aren't enough. As in the above paragraph.