Kansas spent this week auditioning for the role of Earth’s convection oven, and frankly, it got the part. We’re talking 107–110 “feels like” degrees — the kind of heat where stepping outside feels like being personally challenged to a fight by the sun.
So welcome to Ink-Corrigible, my brand-new little corner of Substack. This is Issue 1, which technically makes it a collector’s item, so treat it accordingly — frame it, laminate it, tell your grandchildren you were here.
My evenings this week looked like this: write until midnight in caffeinated fury, then reward myself with crayons. Not metaphorical crayons — actual crayons. It’s my cool-down lap after the HIIT session that is writing on deadline, except instead of stretching I draw eyeballs. Don’t ask. It works.
My son called. A lot. More times than I could count, which I choose to interpret as love and not as him needing something. Every call, he told me — unprompted, unbitter, genuinely delighted — how much he loves his job. It’s like having sunshine blown directly at you on a rainy day, and look, I happen to like the rain sometimes. Given the current broil setting Kansas is stuck on, I’d take an actual rainy day right about now, sunshine metaphors be damned.
And in delicious, petty news: the kids went back to school this week, and I will admit to a small, private glee at their suffering. I did my time. Everyone did their time. Now, once again, it's their turn to face 6 a.m. alarms with the same dead-eyed betrayal the rest of us have carried since August ended our three-month furlough from responsibility.
That’s Issue 1. More crayons, more chaos, more questionable life choices to come.
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