AARP invited me to join today. The invitation came in the mail, along with assorted flyers for sales on yogurt and peanut butter and an announcement to a convention that I will not be attending.

I'm only ~. I don't think you can join AARP before you're fifty. Maybe even fifty-five. Who's got me on the "fifty and older" mailing list, and why? They're so sure that I'm eligible they don't even tell me the cut-off age and warn me that if I'm younger I may not qualify for their magnificent group savings and benefits.

I have a pressing need to get myself off their mailing list. I need them to know that I'm not ready yet. They've made a huge, 716-day mistake. That's almost two years you know. I won't be eligible for two entire years.

Then again, those travel discounts look pretty good....

The days The Socialist and I are ships that pass in the night. Technically, we're ships that pass in the late afternoon/early evening. I see him just before he leaves to teach his night classes. I'm frequently in bed by the time he returns home. If I'm not in bed, I suffer from sleep deprivation the next day. I know he likes teaching this schedule, so I feel guilty for being anxious for this first eight-week summer semester to end. But I am looking forward to seeing a little more of him.

Tonight, before he left for class, he told me that he'd read my cat short story. And he liked it. A lot. It wasn't the general "hey that was pretty good" schtick that you tell someone who's worked hard on something and deserves a compliment. He genuinely liked it. He liked the style of my writing, and the tone, and the story itself.

I can't tell you how good that makes me feel.