Whiskey, that is. Amber gold, Texas tea. The good stuff. I believe I’ve stumbled onto a virus killer — two big shots of whiskey. I had been fighting off something nasty that left me with swollen glands and a sore throat every night and following morning for two weeks… until… last night, when I killed every last germ in my throat with two shots of 12-year-old whiskey. Was kinda drunkish, in a good way afterwards, but then this morning awoke feeling restored, scourge free. Will I need to keep this rigorous anti-viral therapy every night throughout the winter? I am willing to make this ultimate sacrifice if it helps me avoid the most horrific of maladies. FUCK YOU SCOURGE.
Am having a hard time getting my head around the hour and a half preschool gift I have Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It is long enough to do chores, which I have sworn off for the forseeable future, but leaves little time for any real work. If I had a painting studio, I could definitely do some work for that amount of time, feeling productive and artistically present. There is a good chance this will be happening toward the end of October. Pray for me.
Tomorrow, though I should really do some grocery shopping, I think I may do the “sit at the kitchen table and stare at the wall while drinking coffee” meditation. It is time to get back to something. I just can’t remember for the life of me what that is/was.
20 Fingers, 20 Toes 
Whiskey cures teething and sleepless babies, too.
I have no idea what time by yourself to think your own thought cures, but I hope you find out after looking at that wall for, say, two months or so.