Knock out another July post? I absolutely can. I’m not sure I can knock out another logically organized post, though. That’s presuming you thought my last one was organized. Logically. Let’s assume you did.

And away we go.

That whole thing about how your tastes change every seven years? I googled it to make sure I didn’t look a fool on here and the science says taste buds are actually replaced every two weeks. Two weeks, seven years, whatever. Apparently it doesn’t matter how long they get, my replacement buds have yet to lean toward cauliflower in any of its forms. Go figure.

I’d love to hear less “people just don’t want to work anymore” and see more “people gained a greater sense of self worth and are less willing to tolerate the bullshit” energy. Are there some folks who just don’t feel like working? Sure, I’d imagine so. We also have a local car wash that consistently had workplace injuries and wanted their employees — the ones sweating outside in ninety degree heat — to pay for freaking water out of their minimum wage paychecks. So pardon my French but fuck no, not every employer deserves employee loyalty.

Also starting to understand why Black people are so tired of hearing But Not All when we talk about issues. Damn, Nancy, can everyone just accept we’re not talking 100% of humanity and move it along? Because I’m sure your brother’s sister’s cousin sure did marry a Black guy and their cherub is adorable and well loved…that doesn’t mean these other problems aren’t out here and due respect to brother’s sister’s cousin but I’d like to think they, too, believe these are important conversations to be had. BLESS. IT.

Fun facts about Seven.

He gives kisses to the girl, enjoys riotous playtime with BrightSide, submits to being scooped up by T, and started curling up on my lap almost every day. He is indeed a cat that contains multitudes.

One of the hardest parts of parenting has been having to show up as an adult when a flying bug invades our space. I mean sure, I could throw a shoe at the teen and shout “kill it!!” but I’m a couple of years away from surviving their childhood without becoming a viral mom video so I’m sucking it up here. Bigger picture and all that.

Side note: it’s possible my no-longer-kids-but-not-full-grown-adults think I’m the dumbest Bambi who ever walked in the woods and I’ll surely be killed off shortly after they’ve moved out but they have underestimated the survival instincts baked into my bones over fifty-two years. If they look concerned just reassure them I’m fine.

Side side note: if I forget I’m fine just give me a hug and remind me I am indeed f-i-n-e.

We’ve been living on a game preserve for the last month or so. The pet sitter startled a freaking deer that had curled up and slept under the bush by our front steps. She and Gracie came across a group of foxes on one of their little outings nearby. There’s bunnies and groundhogs and chipmonks, oh my. Disney’s got nothin’ on us.