Morning rain in New Mexico and thugs going down on the East Coast can really mess with your writing.
You know: You start feeling all cozy and don’t want to get out of bed, seduced by rare rain in the high desert. Your brain starts thinking with introductory clauses and you end up staring at the shrouded mountain instead of the crystal-clear keyboard.
Until the slightly damp dog, discovering you are awake but still under the covers at 6:30 a.m., flops down on top of you while you check your phone for the latest spelling errors in Trump tweets and Mueller-attracting stumbles by his once-overconfident squad of ethical underachievers.
I remind myself not to gloat. I know there are still miles to go before ex-President Eddie Haskell walls himself in at Mar-a-Lago.
My Twitter friends tell me the Rio Grande is running at near historic lows, that summers are only going to get warmer and winters drier. But I have hope decency might soon return to Washington.