Lou’s sex life is none of your concern. It is of my concern. Mostly because I created her. And it. And, actually, the more I think about this, the more creepy it feels, so I’m gonna stop writing about it now.

I think I’ll blame that last paragraph on a mixture of house hunting and insomnia. That particularly potent one-two combo of “thing that requires intense concentration” and “thing that significantly hamstrings your ability concentrate” has rendered my brain into a fine grey powder. I know this for certain, because I had to look up how to spell “concentration,” “rendered,” and “and” in that last sentence. On the bright side, my inability to distinguish Good from Evil now means that I see everything I’ve written here as Pure Comedy Gold.

Oh, that the morning sun will bare that out.