It's not even 7:30 and already this day is stupid. I did the thing where I woke up at what I thought was the middle of the night, and as I tried to go back to sleep the sun came up and I said, "GodDAMMIT" and then the alarm went off. Also, even though my eyes were closed, every single animal who dwells here sensed I was awake, so I had Lily on top of me, and Iris snuggled up next to me purring like that wood chipper in Fargo, and Edsel standing over me saying, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"
Tallulah had already been next to me, on the other pillow like a person, and didn't budge. This is why I like Tallulah. She's very undemanding. Unless you have potato chips.
At any rate, before I get into a crabby shower and put on my crabby clothes and scowl at everyone at work, I wanted to mention where you could find me on Purple Clover. I've been writing for them for a month now, and I have gotten emails, texts, comments here, messages in Morse code over my teletype, the Long Island Medium has called to say several of my deceased relatives have asked her, people have stood over my bed and waited for me to wake up, all so they could ask me, "Where's your latest column?"
And isn't that nice, that people want to read my dumb columns? Yes, it is. So here's what you do. Every Monday, Purple Clover comes out with new columns. There's not a specific time of day, and they're in Los Angeles so if it's 10 a.m. your time and you're worried SICK cause you can't find my newest tome, fret not. They aren't even at work yet.
On the home page of Purple Clover, near the top on the right, is a magnifying glass image. This is a search bar. The part where I'm having to TELL you that's a search bar makes me wonder if Purple Clover isn't being too highfalutin' with their little icons and so forth.
You never hear anyone say "highfaluting," do you, with the g at the end. It's just almost become the word highfalutin'. Because a g would be highfalutin'.
Click on that magnifying glass, is my point, and type in my real name, which is Karen Sommerfeld, and I cannot BEGIN to tell you how weird it is to say my real name here, where I've been June Gardens for six and a half years. Once you type in my name and hit return, mom, it'll tell you what columns I've written thus far.
And there it is. June, annoyed at everything. And out.