Mercury Retrograde Tragedy

Or, Kate Braverman curses me from beyond the grave.

I can barely write this.

For three hours I’ve been writing an inspired, dare I say good piece about the time I spent as Kate Braverman’s friend. And my Microsoft Word crashed, as it does, every time I write, as it had earlier, even, and this time it was not autosaved. Bye-bye.

It is possible that Kate did not like my story. It’s possible that she crossed some ethereal wires and gave my laptop a few extra zaps. I want her to know that I fully intend to make an altar for her. Kate! As well as re-read and first-time-read a bunch of her work. Okay? Maybe this is just Mercury retrograde bullshit. Maybe it’s not Kate’s high witchery from beyond the grave. Oh, I’m so sad at all the little nuances that I’ve lost forever, that I just won’t remember when I do the next draft. Because I’m doing another draft, Kate! Chill out. Everything’s okay and I love you. You might not love me. That’s fine. But life is for the living.

I have neither the heart nor the time to bust out another Substack. See you next week!