I have no Internet or computer at home, so my only option is to write from my phone on my lunch breaks.
Chris sent me a picture message the other day. A local license plate that simply read "Finley".
I was the victim of a violent bug suicide...it chose to go out by flying directly into my forehead, stinger first, while I was on the back of a motorcycle. A week later when my eyes were still swelling shut, I went to see a local doctor for the first time. His name? Dr. Finley.
Yesterday in the course of my breathtaking day as an insurance drone, I ended up having a long conversation with a woman who is married to a fairly well-known and successful author. "Send me your information and I'll have my husband pass it on to his agent."
I have a hard time lately believing in fate or divine intervention of any kind and I'm probably experiencing things that are just coincidence, but, whatever. I need some hope.
And I'll start by hoping that fucking bug is dead as dog shit.