Mike and Emily are liars..

’ve had one of those days—the kind where nothing is technically catastrophic, but everything is exhausting. I spent hours doing laundry again, burning time, money, and patience on machines that always seem to sense weakness. Meanwhile, the usual nonsense continues: people from Mike and Emily’s orbit linking to my blogs, poking around, trying to stir the pot. Some of what I’ve been posting is filed under literary instead of blogs—apparently that alone is enough to confuse people who can’t tell the difference between a spellbook and a tavern menu. Here’s the thing though: Mike and Emily are causing their own downfall. I don’t have to lift a finger. Time is doing the work for me. Fifty-three months and some change from now, I’ll be the one reclining on a Virgin cruise ship, out on the open ocean, salt air, horizon forever, surrounded by beautiful women and zero drama. They, on the other hand, will still be cold, bitter, and alone—crying into their milk and wondering where it all went wrong. That future is locked in. No counterspell available.