The Mischief-Maker

Bratty mischief.

That’s what my brain gets up to when I don’t ride it hard.

Thankfully, writing malarkey or plotting poppycock usually does the trick.

Alas, the last few days have been horribly balderdash-free.

So—

Hello, bratty mischief.

Does my brain scribble on walls?

Toss balls through plate-glass windows?

Nope, it anxieties all over the place. (Yes, I verbed it.)

So, emergency hogwash-ing is now in full force.

My life is so weird.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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