moms
-
It’s 4 p.m., and my inbox is a graveyard of emails that feel important but probably aren’t—digital paperweights holding down nothing but my will to live. The world spins on. Whether I reply today or tomorrow won’t matter to anyone, least of all me. Earlier, I take my mother to the doctor. Routine physical, except
-
I’m obsessed with this keyboard. It’s not just a keyboard—it’s my sparring partner. Typing on it feels like a duel, like it’s daring me to keep up. Unlike those modern, low-profile abominations that feel like typing on a wet napkin, this thing has ‘attitude’. It’s not some passive, limp-wristed keypad. No, this keyboard punches back.
BB Grey--musings 