Patricia has toddled off to bed. She is watching the most recent episodes of "Younger", which is about a 40-year-old-woman who passes herself off as a 26-year-old-woman. In the first season or so, I could see how that would be possible. They are now in season four. The bloom is off the rose, people. She looks 26 like I look like I'm 46. (A guy can dream.)
We were gonna go to see Pauline Dakin at the library tonight. She was going to talk about that new book of hers, in which she claims that she and her sibling and mother were all part of a grand conspiracy, concocted by a man who led them all to believe that they were hiding out from the mafia. Don Connolly of Information Morning was there to act as an MC or something, to lend an air of gravitas to the proceedings.
Once again, I cannot understand how anyone, even a vulnerable woman who sides with authority figures like the clergyman she fell in love with who told her all this crap, could fall so under his sway that she would convince herself and her children to go for this stuff. Mental illness is clearly at play here, and I am not making fun of anyone. But, even so, how does a person, even one with depression and other issues, become so convinced that the person they trust is not lying to them, or mentally ill himself? I think I want to read this book and find out, because I am unconvinced.
Friday already, tomorrow. Another Frank deadline looms. In the coming days I have to finish researching and start writing another unsolved murder article. I selected which one, during my lunch hour today. A lot of work remains to be done. It's all in service of an article that people can read in five minutes.
Meanwhile, I have an entire binder full of notes for other cases I want to research, or have begun to research. I have found that the only way I can get anything done is to work on several articles at once. It's weird, but it works.
I think I will turn in. Long day tomorrow.