Can you see me in my office? It’s a mess in here. I’m eating cold oatmeal.

I’m waiting for Liz to walk in the door. I made her walk home because I’ve been sick and I can’t face the carpool line.

I just finished writing a really hard rough draft. A rough draft that took two phone calls to a friend to talk through the amazing conference I went to last week. We bantered about how to explain toxic capitalism to people. She wondered if people could handle reading about that term. I said that I went to a conference and I cried. I heard hard things and I went home and crawled into bed at 7:30 pm. Those are the things I want to write about. Writing about toxic capitalism in one paragraph: whoosh. I’m betting my editor might delete that paragraph. But I’m glad I made myself write it.

There’s your tangent for the day. I want to put in a link, but I think anyone who is interested can think about this: when we say toxic poverty, we’re really saying toxic capitalism. And that’s from Dr. Benjamin S. Danielson. You can look him up. He’s amazing.

No, you cannot take my liberal hippie ways out of the blog.

I’m here in my office writing to you because I write to you every day. Today I don’t have a poem because poems don’t often knock at 3 pm. But tangents do. So I’ll leave you with my tangent from the very hard rough draft. And tell you that I’m happy to report that my health is back to 60 percent. And cold oatmeal tastes good when you only ate crackers yesterday.

I hope you are well, my readers. Take good care.