I really wish people stopped repeating that they don’t care about Ukraine. It’s perfectly fine not to care but talking about it like a parrot on crack isn’t producing the desired impression of not caring. I don’t care about many things. Bobsleigh, the Olympics, Hong Kong (no offense, it’s just not my thing), Bitcoin, Rihanna, the list is endless. And guess what? I haven’t been cross-pollinating every social medium in sight to make sure everybody knows that I don’t care. Because the more you repeat that you don’t care, the more it looks like you do.

It’s absolutely unnecessary to insert yourself into every conversation. If something is trending that’s not up your alley, go do something else. It’s very easy to mute topics on social media and concentrate on stuff you do care about.

The same goes for Canadian trucker protests. I’m tired of people posting long screeds starting with “why am I supposed to care?” Avoid passive voice and ask yourself: who’s doing the supposing? Nobody cares what you do or don’t care about. This is a topic that is very important to many people. If you aren’t one of them, fine. Go talk about bobsleigh, Bitcoin and Hong Kong. I promise not to hunt you down to inform you that I don’t care.

Author Victoria Helen Stone inserts woke talking points throughout her thriller Problem Child. I don’t mind because the first-person narrator is a self-avowed sociopath, which makes her political views believable.

Turns out there’s Olympics going on. Like anybody cares, right? In any case, apparently a Canadian figure skater performed poorly and now everybody is saying that he “embarrassed Canada.” I find this irresistibly funny because of all the things that make Canada an international embarrassment, some poor skater having a bad day ranks extremely low on the list. People who are posting on social media about the “embarrassing athlete” need to be reassured that nobody noticed.

“Our national pride and good name. . .”

Oh, honey.

At the advanced age of 45, I bought myself my first pair of ripped jeans. Of course, I had to do something to make myself not feel completely weird about this venture, so the jeans are pink.

I’m at an event where we welcome prospective students, and to entertain myself I’m posting selfies. The gentleman sitting next to me heads our police department, and he stares at me in confusion.

In other news, it’s +16°C here. And it’s Presidents’ Day, which I’ll celebrate by driving to the gas station to laugh sardonically at the gas prices.

I have five public appearances coming up this spring plus a conference in North Carolina. And now that I have my pink jeans, I feel completely ready.