This next story comes from a period in my life when sleep and I were no longer on speaking terms. I’m not sure how it all started, but once insomnia had settled in, it persuaded meto consider all kinds of solutions that seemed perfectly reasonable at two in the morning—but deeply questionable by breakfast.

What follows is a short comic tale involving podcasts, white noise, medical advice of a somewhat flexible nature, and a steadily escalating series of attempts to outsmart my own brain.

Like most of my stories, there’s more than an ounce or two of good, honest truth in it—particularly if you’ve ever found yourself wide awake in the middle of the night, convinced that the answer to your problem is just one more tinyadjustment away.

In case you’re interested, it never is.

I suppose everyone’s a bit vain. Even me, if I’m being honest.

This comic tale explores the uneasy intersection between old-school workarounds and today’s passion for social media—Facebook in particular.

The idea came to me after a visit to my sister in the wilds of Northern Ontario, where keeping in touch via Facebook, Skype, and the like became more than a convenience. Afterthe COVID pandemic turned many of us into virtual shut-ins, staying connected suddenly felt essential. But connected at what cost?

Here, we dip into the quietly insecure world of seniors, where reminders of our youthful good looks have a way of popping up at the worst possible moments. Thank heavens I neverventured into video, or I’d be writing a very different story altogether.

And don’t lose heart—we’re all in the same leaky, aging boat, just waving at each other from different screens. Enjoy

There was a time — not all that long ago — when I believed I had at least a passing familiarity with the younger generation.

I understood ambition. I understood energy. I even understood, in principle, progress.

This story is my admittedly feeble attempt at creating a comedy in which I find myself completely out of my depth on all counts.

What follows is a small, modern — at least I hope it’s modern — tale involving a coffee bar drink with more adjectives than I could have ever imagined, along with a job interview that required me to nod confidently while having only the loosest possible grip on what was actually unfolding.

It begins with an applicant's name that runs backwards then continues with a schedule so fully optimized it leaves no room for punctuation.

It advances through a résumé featuring followers, filters, and an educational trajectory that appears to have taken several creative detours. And somewhere between “easy peezy” and “influencer,” I begin to suspect that the English language and I may no longer be moving in the same direction.

I came prepared to discuss editing — structure, clarity, the quiet discipline of moving a comma one space to the left and feeling triumphant about it.

Nevaeh came prepared to discuss engagement, branding, upward mobility, and the possibility of paid holidays calculated on what I can only assume was a weekly basis.

None of this was hostile. It was simply… disorienting.

There is something uniquely humbling about realizing that the world has updated itself while you were still fairly satisfied with the previous version. That vocabulary has shifted. That priorities have evolved. That confidence now arrives fully formed, even when experience is still buffering.

Like most of my stories, there’s plenty of truth hiding in here among the laughs — especially if you’ve ever found yourself wondering when, exactly, you stopped being the target audience… and started being the historical reference point.

Warm. Slightly bewildered. Deeply self-mocking.

A coffee order. A job interview. And one senior author discovering that modern life may, in fact, require a user manual.

I bring a new Clarence Mills misadventure most Thursdays. If you’ve ever nodded politely while silently recalculating your place in the timeline, feel free to follow along — and let me know you’re out there listening.