Psychics Sailing and Adderall

Why do I look like Ronald Regan? Why does JD smokey line his eyes?

It hit me a few weeks ago—I might be the only writer on the campaign trail not fueled by some strain of Adderall. This epiphany struck during meandering conversations at cocktail parties trailing political appearances, where socially accepted speed gets casually name-dropped and praised among reporters. With my intense ADHD, I've held a steady curiosity about it. Mike struggles too. Marrying someone with the same ailment - Not recommended. Call us "survivors," if you will. We exist in ragged formation. Both of us frequently lose bank cards and jump from project to project with reckless abandon. We have never done well with “routine.” But overall, we're pretty productive despite the shared handicap.

With everything going on it’s been hard to sit down and document it all. In this state, eloquence suffers. My poor mind shifts, twists, and jumps away from interests too quickly, making any drug that streamlines one's attention an alluring option. The ailment isn't all negative; it thrives in real-time commentary over on IG stories. The framework and algorithm suits manic, incessant emoting. I can present a scattered array of moods, memes, videos, tweets, texts, and prose within the 100 slides allotted. I sit on my bed and fire off hot takes until early afternoon, everyday, and I love it. Too much. From a political standpoint, it's an ideal medium—fast-moving, informative, engaging, and at times, rightfully scathing. Custom polling results are instantly available and informative. They help gage public perspective. But the IG audience, as much as they appreciate the onslaught of gossip and information, is not nearly as witted as those on X, which feels more like a speedway for shock and slander, designed to dismantle political enemies and competing egos. Those with tougher skin fare better there.

They are not like us.

I'm sharing this not to apologize or explain delays. I'm writing because I woke today burdened by stories clogging my headspace and thought, why not? I swallowed half a pink pill given by a friend from her mother's stash—an off-brand version of Adderall—to see if my brain would miraculously settle down and wrap itself around one (or 12) of these beautiful half-finished storylines archived in my dashboard.

It didn't work, you guys. All it did was jolt me into frantic, fast-paced communications, manifested in over-expansive texts. I had fleeting spurts of focus, but ultimately I ditched my laptop and contemplated walking 35 times around the block or deep cleaning a forgotten closet. Suddenly, I wanted to organize stacks of envelopes I never noticed in my office before. Amid this buzzing escalating energy, I even thought about bagging clothes and driving them to the Salvation Army. Then something stranger happened. I zeroed in on a secret I've been hiding, hoping no one would notice for years. I am referring, of course, to my uncanny resemblance to Ronald Reagan, which I have been well aware of since I was a child. At 12, I saw my visage in his. Obviously, it is not a comparison any junior high girl is seeking, but one I could not deny after a family member enthusiastically pointed it out.

So here I am—confessing secrets for no purpose or reward. But look at him. Then look at me. My brush with Adderall concluded that I must address it publicly to move past it permanently. There is nothing wrong with resembling a great Republican icon. He was a movie star, after all.

Anyway. I'm coming down from the spike. Just in time for steaks cooked at home. Regrettably, nothing notable was accomplished this afternoon. I still have a psychic phone call to explain. And one of my biggest (exclusive) stories to shape and introduce. Spinning energy and mania directed at wardrobe editing is not a feat I should be concerned with. I want to be productive and prolific in this last stretch, but this doesn't feel like a writer's drug. The goal was to tie up drafts. Instead, I found myself talking myself out of running through a gas station carwash (without a car).

Don't believe everything you hear at fancy cocktail parties.

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98 Days to Election and Every Week Just Gets Crazier

JD Vance is a Problem and the Smudgy Eyeliner Isn’t Helping

I knew it was JD months ago. I called it confidently - not excitedly. I suspected he was a risk. Not that he’s a terrible person, he just doesn’t read well with those not familiar with him, and I figured Trump would benefit more from someone with a political instinct and charisma different than his own. Plus, the eyeliner—or alleged eyeliner—is distracting. I want to look past it but can’t. Mike is more annoyed than me. I swear he brings it up once a day trying to figure out what’s so annoying about him. Eventually, he always comes back to the eyeliner. Sources suggest it really is a thing. Close up, it’s a thing. The mounting Vance hate is ruthless. Will it let up or get worse now that they have successfully pinned him as “weird?” People preaching that men can birth babies are calling HIM weird. I have also seen him voted “most punchable face” more times than I care to count on X. I worry for him. We all know how scary single liberal cat ladies can be.

Additionally, for whatever it is worth: most women on Trump’s team were never gunning for Vance. In fact, several were vehemently against it. I hear it was mainly Tucker and Don Jr. who cheerleaded the choice. Rumors were more or less confirmed today by this article insisting that even Kellyanne is anti. I do not have the nerve to ask if Trump is currently regretting the pick. But for the record, whatever Kellyanne thinks, I agree with.

Doug’s Secret Love Child?

Another rumor circulating is that Kamala Harris is not a stepmother to 2 kids but 3 - that the reason for Doug’s divorce is that he “knocked up their kindergarten teacher.” Whoever this woman is, she is apparently being hunted by reporters tipped off by a post on X. Upon digging, they discovered (allegedly) she went from being a kindergarten teacher around 2008 to an executive at a notable media corporation a couple of years later. I’m not sure this scandal holds much weight. Do we care about sex scandals anymore?

Obama + Jen Aniston?

A more photogenic summer rumor suggests there is possibly something “sweet” between these two. A “connection” those in their inner circle are apparently keen to. I have no evidence, other than quality gossip, to back it up. Personally, I prefer the Italian version: smitten with Clooney on a boat in Capri.

Speaking of Boats

Don’t miss this sweepstakes - a chance to sail with RFK Jr., Cheryl Hines, Drea De Matteo, Meta World Peace, and myself. Special guests are also expected on board. One of them I adore. Knowing what I do, I promise it is well worth your entry.

RE: Election Stresses

If you consider all that’s happened in the span of 30 days, we’ve lived through at least 6 extraordinary timelines. And we’ve only got likely 75 more to go.

(Virtual Group Hug)