June 9, 2026

9:17 PM (Kentucky Time)

Hospital Stays Are Not My Favorite Vacation

Well, friends, I finally made it home last night after spending 8 long days in the hospital. If you're wondering, no, it was not a luxury spa retreat. The room service was questionable, the entertainment was lacking, and I definitely don't recommend it on TripAdvisor.

I ended up in the hospital because of a pretty big Multiple Sclerosis (MS) flare. For those who don't know, an MS flare happens when your immune system gets a little confused and starts bothering the protective covering around your nerves. When that happens, messages between your brain and body don't travel the way they're supposed to. That can cause all kinds of fun (and by fun, I mean not fun at all) symptoms like weakness, numbness, balance problems, vision issues, fatigue, and other things that make everyday life much harder.

This particular flare decided it wanted to be the center of attention and reminded me that MS doesn't care about my schedule. Unfortunately for MS, neither do I.

The last eight days have been challenging, exhausting, and honestly a little scary at times. But through it all, I have been surrounded by so much love, support, prayers, messages, comments, and encouragement. Every kind word meant more than you know.

I want to sincerely thank everyone who checked on me, sent positive thoughts, said prayers, shared my updates, or simply took a moment to think about me. Having people in my corner made a difficult situation a lot easier to face.

Now that I'm back home, my plan is pretty simple: rest, recover, take things one day at a time, and continue being my usual stubborn self. Recovery may not happen overnight, but I'll keep moving forward one step at a time.

Before I go, here's your official dad joke of the day:

Why don't skeletons fight each other?

Because they don't have the guts.

xoxoxx

Molly Roxx

June 28, 2026

Hello, everyone.

I wanted to check in because I've been pretty quiet lately, and I figured you all deserved an update.

Unfortunately, my MS and my mental health have both been giving me a really hard time lately. Things got bad enough that I ended up back in the hospital for a week. It wasn't where I wanted to be, but sometimes our bodies and minds force us to slow down, whether we like it or not.

I'm finally back home now, recovering one day at a time while trying to catch up on work. It's definitely a balancing act, and I'm doing my best to be patient with myself—even if patience isn't always my strongest quality.

While I was in the hospital, doctors also found a mass on my liver. The next step is scheduling a biopsy so we can figure out exactly what's going on. Waiting for answers is never easy, but I'm trying to stay hopeful and take things one appointment at a time.

I know some of you have noticed that I haven't been modeling much lately. The truth is, I just haven't physically or mentally felt up to it. I miss creating, dressing up, and connecting with all of you through photos, and I promise I'll get back into the swing of things as soon as I'm feeling stronger. Thank you for your patience and for sticking by me while I take care of myself.

Life has been pretty hectic for this woman living with four chronic illnesses, but I'm still here, still fighting, and still finding reasons to smile when I can. Your messages, encouragement, and kindness mean more than you probably realize.

Thank you all for continuing to support me through the highs, the lows, and everything in between. I'm hoping for brighter days ahead, and I can't wait to share more with you when I'm able.

And because I refuse to end on a gloomy note...

Dad joke of the day: I tried to organize all my medical paperwork by color... but every time I finished, the doctors gave me another chart. I guess you could say my health has a colorful history.

June 29, 2026

Mother Nature has apparently chosen violence this week. It has been so hot outside that I half expect to see squirrels carrying tiny bottles of sunscreen and birds filing complaints with the weather department. Being outside feels like being personally attacked by the sun. If summer gets any hotter, I'm going to start baking cookies on my dashboard and calling it meal prep.

The good news is that my health has been improving a bit. I still have my ups and downs, but overall I am feeling better, and I'll gladly take every little victory I can get. Because I've been feeling stronger, I've been catching up on work and tackling projects that have been patiently waiting for my attention. Well, "patiently" might be the wrong word. I think some of my unfinished tasks have been sitting in the corner judging me.

Now for the plot twist. My ex has been contacting me from prison. If you're wondering how I feel about that, welcome to the club. I have absolutely no idea. Somewhere between confused, curious, amused, and "did this really just happen?" seems to be the neighborhood where my feelings currently live. Life has a funny way of reopening chapters you thought had already been shelved in the bargain bin.

In happier news, my newest novel, Married to Diablo, is now available! This book has been quite the journey, and I am excited to finally send it out into the world. The link will be added to my online bookstore soon, so keep an eye out if you'd like to grab a copy. There is something magical about watching an idea grow into a finished book that people can actually hold in their hands.

Other than that, life is surprisingly average. No dramatic escapes, no lottery winnings, no secret invitations to become queen of a distant kingdom. Just me, my writing, my work, a very determined sun trying to roast the planet, and the occasional reminder that reality is often stranger than fiction.

Stay cool, stay hydrated, and remember: if you see me outside this week, I'm probably not exercising—I'm just trying to survive the roll from the car to the building.

Until next time,

Molly Roxx

July 2, 2026

Well, today's forecast was brought to you by chronic illness, exhaustion, and a generous chance of "Are you kidding me?" with scattered eye rolls throughout the day.

I woke up feeling about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. My body once again decided that functioning normally is apparently a premium feature that I did not subscribe to. Some mornings I wake up and wonder what exciting symptom my body has selected from the menu. It's like a terrible mystery box subscription that I never ordered and cannot cancel.

But despite feeling like a haunted Victorian child with a Wi-Fi connection, I actually managed to get some things done today.

I got some cleaning done, worked on advertising, took care of a sick chicken, spent some time working on my bookstore website, and continued my never-ending quest to catch up on work. At this point, "catching up" has become less of a goal and more of a folklore creature. I suspect Catching Up, Motivation, and Free Time are all hanging out together somewhere riding unicorns and laughing at me.

Being sick is hard. There is no fancy way to say it. Some days I feel strong, and other days I feel like gravity has a personal vendetta against me. Every single day I pray for remission. Every day I hope tomorrow might be a little easier than today.

So if you're someone who prays, sends positive thoughts, manifests abundance, sends healing energy into the universe, talks to the moon, consults your crystals, or simply believes in wishing someone well, please keep me in mind. I could use all the good vibes I can get. At this point I'm accepting prayers, positive energy, lucky rabbit feet, four-leaf clovers, and whatever magic my cat is using to create six kittens overnight.

Speaking of miracles...

For once, a little money actually came into my life.

I know.

Please remain calm.

I checked my account three times because I was convinced somebody had made a mistake. My plan is to save as much of it as possible toward a newer car for when I finally have my knee surgery.

Assuming my knee surgery ever stops playing hide-and-seek.

Seriously, this surgery has been postponed so many times that I'm beginning to think it's an urban legend. Future historians will write about it.

"The legendary knee surgery was first scheduled many moons ago. Though many believed in its existence, no confirmed sightings were ever recorded."

Every time I think it's finally happening, life pulls out another plot twist. At this point my knee and I are both tired of being in suspense.

The thing keeping me excited right now is my bookstore.

It's almost finished.

Read that again because I can hardly believe it myself.

The grand opening is August 1st, and for the first time ever, I'm actually planning to pay for some advertising. I know that's how business works, but spending money on myself and my dreams feels weird after years of putting everything and everyone else first.

I am hopeful though.

Maybe even cautiously optimistic.

And if that sounds suspiciously positive, don't worry. I'll balance it out with sarcasm shortly.

The truth is that I genuinely think I have talent as a writer. I've spent years creating stories, books, magazines, blog posts, articles, and enough written words to make my keyboard file a workers' compensation claim. I'd really love for more people to discover my work.

I don't need to become rich and famous.

Okay, I wouldn't complain.

But mostly I'd just love for people to read my stories and say, "Wow, that was worth my time."

That would mean the world to me.

In other exciting news, my hair continues to grow.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Reluctantly.

I can officially say that I have no plans to shave my head again anytime soon. Growing hair out is a special kind of torture. One day you look fabulous, and the next day you look like a confused dandelion that got caught in a wind tunnel. There is no middle ground.

And now for the biggest news of all...

Last night my cat gave birth to SIX kittens.

SIX.

Apparently while I was over here stressing about bills, surgeries, websites, deadlines, and the future, she was busy building an entire furry startup company.

The kittens are absolutely beautiful.

Tiny little noses.

Tiny little paws.

Tiny little squeaks.

Momma cat is doing great, and I have spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at them instead of being productive. But honestly, if anyone judges me for that, they're wrong.

So yes, today started out miserable.

I was sick.

I was tired.

I was frustrated.

But I also got things accomplished.

I cleaned.

I worked.

I cared for animals.

I moved closer to opening my bookstore.

I saved a little money.

I dreamed a little bigger.

And I ended the day surrounded by six tiny reminders that life has a funny way of bringing joy into the middle of chaos.

Maybe success is coming.

Maybe healing is coming.

Maybe my surgery will eventually stop being a mythical creature.

Until then, I'll keep writing, keep building, keep hoping, and keep showing up—even on the days when my body votes against it.

And because tradition matters, here is today's dad joke:

What do you call a kitten that becomes a successful business owner?

The purr-esident and CEO.

July 3, 2026

Chronic Illness: The World's Slowest Roller Coaster

Today has been one of those days where my body seems to be operating on dial-up internet while the rest of the world upgraded to fiber optic years ago.

You know the kind of fatigue I'm talking about. Not the cute little "I need a nap" fatigue. Not the "I stayed up too late watching true crime documentaries and now regret every life choice" fatigue. No. This is the deluxe package. The premium subscription. The kind of exhaustion where putting on socks feels like an Olympic event and making a sandwich deserves a participation trophy.

The weird thing about chronic illness is how life somehow moves at two completely different speeds at the same time.

The days drag.

The weeks disappear.

One minute it's breakfast, the next minute it's somehow dinner, and yet between those two meals it feels like I've lived through three presidential terms and an ice age.

I spend so much time trying to gather enough energy to do basic things that by the time I actually do them, I've forgotten why I got up in the first place.

I went into a room earlier and sat there staring into space like a haunted Roomba.

I wasn't cleaning.

I wasn't planning.

I wasn't thinking.

I was buffering.

And then there's the emotional side of things.

Nobody really talks about how exhausting it is to carry confusion around with you all day.

Lately I've been thinking about someone I know I shouldn't be thinking about.

A narcissist.

The kind of person who can make you feel like the most important person in the world one moment and completely invisible the next.

The kind of person who leaves you questioning your own memories because somehow the bad moments and the good moments get tangled together like Christmas lights that have been stored in a box since 1997.

The logical side of me knows the relationship wasn't healthy.

The logical side of me has receipts.

The logical side of me has enough evidence to present a case before the Supreme Court.

But then there's the emotional side.

The emotional side remembers the conversations.

The jokes.

The nights spent laughing.

The moments when he wasn't the villain in the story.

The moments when he really did feel like my best friend.

And that's the hard part nobody prepares you for.

Sometimes you don't miss the person who hurt you.

You miss the person you thought they were.

You miss the friendship.

You miss the connection.

You miss the possibility.

And somehow your heart keeps trying to submit appeals after your brain has already closed the case.

It's frustrating.

It's confusing.

It's exhausting.

It's human.

Some days I feel completely lost.

Not dramatic movie lost where a wise old stranger appears with life-changing advice.

Just regular lost.

The kind where you're standing in the grocery store staring at a shelf wondering why you came down that aisle.

Except emotionally.

Still, somehow, I keep finding reasons to laugh.

Because what else am I going to do?

If life insists on being ridiculous, I might as well participate.

I may be tired.

I may be confused.

I may occasionally forget why I walked into a room.

I may still be trying to untangle feelings that should have packed their bags and left months ago.

But I'm still here.

Still breathing.

Still writing.

Still finding things to smile about.

Still managing to crack jokes even when my body and my emotions are acting like two toddlers fighting over the last juice box.

Maybe that's resilience.

Maybe it's stubbornness.

Honestly, at this point, I'm not sure there's much difference.

Either way, I'll take it.

Dad Joke of the Day:

My chronic illness and I have something in common—we're both exhausted, but somehow neither of us knows how to quit. 😏

July 4, 2026

Well, happy Fourth of July, everyone! Happy 250th birthday, America. That's one heck of a milestone. Here's hoping everyone celebrates safely, eats too much potato salad, and remembers that sparklers are for lighting the sky—not yourself.

As for me? My back currently has all the flexibility of a two-by-four left out in the sun for twenty years. The pain is definitely hanging around like an unwanted houseguest who keeps saying, "I'll leave in five minutes," and then starts another episode of a show you've already seen. But surprisingly... I actually feel sort of okay today. I'll take "sorta okay." At this point, "sorta okay" deserves its own parade.

Speaking of heat... can someone please explain why Mother Nature has decided we all deserve to be slow-roasted? This heat wave is absolutely ridiculous. The second I wheel outside, it feels like I'm being basted for dinner. The humidity greets me like an overly affectionate Labrador with boundary issues. If you see me slowly melting into a decorative sidewalk puddle, just give my wheelchair a gentle push toward the nearest air conditioner.

The good news is I'm getting excited about my trip to Lexington on Monday. It'll be nice to get away for a bit, even if I'll probably spend half the ride rearranging every cushion and pillow known to mankind because my spine apparently enjoys dramatic performances.

One thing I'm incredibly proud of is my weight loss journey. I'm getting close to 160 pounds lost. That's not a typo. One hundred and sixty pounds. I did it mostly through diet and exercise. I did use GLP-1 medication for a month or two somewhere in the middle of everything, but it became so difficult to get that I never continued with it. The vast majority of this journey has simply been changing my habits, making better choices, and sticking with them.

The funny thing is people always ask, "Does it get easier?"

Actually... yes.

It really does.

The food cravings eventually quiet down. My sweet tooth has mostly packed its bags and moved out without leaving a forwarding address. I never thought I'd become someone who actually reaches for a diet soda without making the face of a disappointed toddler, but here we are. Apparently miracles still happen.

Ironically—and I use that word with all the sarcasm I can muster—my colitis diagnosis has made dieting even easier because nearly everything edible now has the potential to declare war on my digestive system. Nothing motivates healthy eating quite like wondering if that innocent-looking sandwich is secretly your final boss battle.

Everything makes me desperately ill these days.

And yet...

My family seems so proud.

Not because of the liver mass.

Not because I struggle to keep food down.

Not because I juggle twenty-four medications just to function on a normal day.

No.

It's more like:

"Wow! You're down twelve clothing sizes! Congratulations!"

Thanks.

Nothing says unconditional love quite like celebrating the wrapping paper while pretending the gift inside isn't on fire.

Sometimes it feels like people don't actually care how I'm doing. They care how they think I make the family look. Most of the people who truly loved me and stood by me have passed away. What I'm left with are estranged relatives who never reached out when life was falling apart, but somehow always manage to appear just often enough to offer an opinion, a criticism, or an insult.

It's amazing.

Some people collect stamps.

Some collect Beanie Babies.

My estranged family apparently collects updates about my life so they have fresh material for the next gossip convention.

I sincerely hope they at least get refreshments.

Thankfully, I have much more exciting things to focus on.

I'm currently working on a brand-new advertising campaign for the grand opening of my online bookstore, and honestly... I'm excited. Really excited.

I don't usually spend money on advertising because I'd rather invest in creating the books themselves. But this time feels different. I'm genuinely proud of my newest books, and I think they deserve a real chance to find readers. So for once, I'm investing in getting the word out.

Sometimes believing in your own work isn't arrogance.

Sometimes it's finally giving yourself permission to say, "I made something good."

That's where I'm at.

Back pain, heat exhaustion, questionable intestines, enough medication to stock a small pharmacy... and somehow still optimistic.

Life is weird like that.

As for America... happy 250th birthday. I wish I felt more optimistic about where we're headed. It often feels like Donald Trump is doing everything he can to divide this country instead of bringing people together. I honestly don't understand why so much energy seems to go into turning Americans against one another when we already have enough problems to solve. Whether people agree with me or not, I hope we can eventually find our way back to more compassion, more respect, and a little less outrage.

So wherever you are today, I hope you have a wonderful and safe Fourth of July. Hug the people who matter. Laugh a little louder than usual. Drink plenty of water. Wear sunscreen. And maybe don't challenge fireworks to a duel.

To everyone who's been kind to me over the years—thank you.

To my readers—thank you.

To my friends—thank you.

And yes...

Even to my estranged family, who apparently believe keeping tabs on me is part of their oxygen supply...

I hope you have a lovely holiday too.

With love, sarcasm, stubbornness, and just enough sass to survive another day,

Molly Roxx ❤️

July 6, 2026

Dear Blog,

Today's fun fact is that my day once again began the same way every great epic adventure starts: my roommate waking me up before my body had officially agreed to participate in society. Nothing says "good morning" quite like being gently reminded that sleeping is apparently a privilege and not a lifestyle.

First order of business was feeding some of the furry-and-feathered kingdom. Dogs? Fed. Cats? Fed. Macaws? Fed. Fresh water for everyone? Check. I swear I spend more time running a wildlife sanctuary than living in a house. If I ever disappear, just check under the mountain of bird seed.

After the morning zoo duties, I got to work on Miss Pin-up Magazine: The Military Issue, which absolutely has to be finished by tomorrow afternoon. Deadlines wait for no one, unfortunately. If caffeine could earn a Pulitzer Prize, we'd both be on the cover.

I also put away my laundry today. Now, before anyone starts applauding my domestic greatness, my roommate actually washes the laundry because I physically can't get to the laundry room in my wheelchair. We have a pretty fair arrangement: she does the laundry, and I handle the dishes and cleaning the stove. Teamwork makes the dream work...or at least keeps the kitchen from looking like it hosted a grease convention.

One disappointment today was that our trip to Lexington didn't happen. I had really been looking forward to getting out of the house for a while. Apparently it's been rescheduled for Thursday, and I'm crossing my fingers that this plan actually survives contact with reality.

Instead, Wednesday's exciting adventure will be driving to Dry Ridge to pick up...you guessed it...more birds.

Now, wasn't I promised I would never have to make that drive again?

Yes.

Was that promise apparently written in disappearing ink?

Also yes.

I absolutely despise driving to Dry Ridge. The roads are narrow, twisty, hilly, and seem specifically designed by someone who hated both guardrails and peace of mind. My roommate, on the other hand, drives like she's auditioning for an action movie directed by caffeine. Since I enjoy remaining among the living, I end up driving. I creep along those roads at approximately the speed of continental drift because I would rather arrive late than become tomorrow's traffic report. It takes twice as long, but at least I plan on arriving with my blood pressure only moderately elevated.

The truly ironic part?

We had finally managed to get our house chicken population down to around ten. Ten! We were making progress! Nature was healing!

So naturally we're about to add at least five more birds.

Because apparently when normal people collect decorative pillows, we collect poultry.

There is also a very real possibility that we'll be adding another peacock...or two.

I wish I were kidding.

My roommate absolutely adores birds. She lights up every time she sees another feathered creature that "needs a home."

Meanwhile, I am allergic to feathers.

This is not the life I carefully planned.

This is simply the life that looked at me, shrugged, and said, "Congratulations, you're now living inside an aviary."

My sinuses have filed several formal complaints.

By evening I had officially run out of energy. Chronic illness has a wonderful way of turning "Maybe I'll cook tonight" into "Absolutely not." So Taco Bell it is. Sometimes survival comes wrapped in a tortilla, and honestly, I'm not going to judge it.

Unfortunately, dinner is just the intermission.

Tonight will be another long night spent finishing the Military Issue of Miss Pin-up Magazine so it can go out tomorrow afternoon. Then tomorrow I get to enjoy the glamorous world of doctor appointments, blood tests, discussions about a liver biopsy, and all the other exciting activities that somehow never make it onto anyone's bucket list.

Life has been equal parts deadlines, doctor's appointments, feathers, allergies, laundry, dishes, and enough animals to qualify this house as a small petting zoo.

Still...tomorrow is another day.

Hopefully one with fewer birds.

(I'm not optimistic.)

July 11, 2026

Yesterday I finally made it to Lexington.

It's amazing how exciting a trip to the bank becomes when your car has decided retirement sounded better than actually running. Since Lexington is over an hour away and rides there are few and far between these days, I had to make this trip count. You don't waste a trip like that. You squeeze every errand, every shopping stop, and every bad decision into one very long day.

I had one store in particular I was dying to go to.

It had gone out of business.

I sat there for a second thinking, "Well...that tracks."

At this point I'm convinced I have some weird superpower. If I really love a store, restaurant, or product, all I have to do is plan a visit and it'll disappear before I get there. Maybe I should start planning trips to places I don't like. I could probably save the economy.

Since Plan A had officially joined the dinosaurs, I wandered into Walmart instead.

Could I have ordered most of the stuff online?

Absolutely.

Did I?

Of course not.

Sometimes you just need to roam the clearance aisles like a bargain-hunting raccoon looking for shiny things.

The good news is I found some really awesome graphic T-shirts, so I left feeling like I had at least won something.

One stop I was genuinely happy to make was the bank. I finally cashed the settlement check from the sexual harassment case I won against my former landlord.

Only took about ten years.

Apparently justice is delivered by carrier pigeon.

I'm not going to pretend money magically fixes everything, because it doesn't. But finally being able to close that chapter—even a decade later—felt pretty satisfying. Some doors don't slam shut. They creak closed so slowly you almost forget they were ever open.

Now let's discuss the true theme of yesterday.

Bathrooms.

Specifically...McDonald's bathrooms.

I don't know what was in the air, but all three of us apparently had bladders with the capacity of decorative teacups. We spent so much time making emergency bathroom stops that Ronald McDonald probably thinks we're stalking him.

Thankfully McDonald's almost always has wheelchair-accessible restrooms, so they officially became our pit-stop headquarters.

I should probably leave them a thank-you card.

Or maybe a loyalty punch card.

"Congratulations! After your tenth emergency bathroom visit, your eleventh panic pee is absolutely free."

By dinnertime we ended up at Golden Corral.

Golden Corral is the most emotionally neutral restaurant on Earth.

Nobody has ever walked out saying, "That was the greatest meal of my life!"

But nobody usually leaves saying, "That was a complete disaster," either.

It's just...there.

It's the beige paint color of restaurants.

Dependable.

Predictable.

Entirely adequate.

And honestly, after a day of running around, "entirely adequate" was exactly what we needed.

By the time we finally got home it was midnight.

MIDNIGHT.

I haven't stayed out that late in forever unless insomnia was involved.

By then my butt had filed a formal complaint, my back had submitted its resignation, and I was pretty sure my wheelchair was silently judging every life choice I'd made since breakfast.

But you know what?

I'd do it again.

Not because everything went according to plan—it definitely didn't.

Not because the shopping was spectacular.

Not because Golden Corral suddenly became a five-star restaurant.

I'd do it again because I got to spend the day with friends.

We laughed about the ridiculous stuff.

We complained about the heat.

We hunted for bargains.

We made way too many bathroom stops.

We solved absolutely none of the world's problems, but for a few hours we forgot about most of them.

Life has a funny way of disguising good days as ordinary ones.

Sometimes they look like clearance racks, closed storefronts, Walmart bags, and a buffet that somehow always manages to be aggressively average.

Sometimes they end with sore muscles, an exhausted smile, and the realization that the best part of the day wasn't what you bought—it was who was there while you were buying it.

And honestly...

Those are my favorite kinds of days.

July 13, 2026

Well, if anyone was wondering whether my life has decided to embrace the concept of "relaxation," the answer is an enthusiastic, sarcastic laugh followed by the universe throwing another plot twist at my forehead.

Yesterday was spent in the emergency room with my roommate. She wasn't feeling well, needed to be checked out, and understandably didn't want to go through it alone. So, naturally, I became chauffeur, waiting room entertainment, snack finder, emotional support human, and professional "it's going to be okay" specialist. Hospitals are fascinating places. You go in expecting a quick visit and somehow emerge three business days later wondering if you've accidentally paid rent there.

Thankfully, she's back home now, but she's still feeling pretty rough.

Which meant today wasn't exactly a vacation either.

Today's exciting episode of The Molly Show included putting the finishing touches on the newest issue of Miss Pin-Up's Open Theme Issue and getting it officially published. There is something incredibly satisfying about finally hitting that publish button after countless hours of editing, proofreading, second-guessing yourself, fixing one comma, breaking five other things, and wondering if caffeine can legally replace blood.

After that, I rewarded myself with a little online shopping. Was it necessary? Probably not. Did it make me happy? Absolutely. Sometimes retail therapy is cheaper than actual therapy...unless you accidentally discover a sale.

Then came Mount Dishmore.

I swear dishes reproduce when no one is looking. I'm convinced the forks hold tiny family reunions overnight. I spent what felt like an Olympic event washing dishes before moving on to taking care of all of the animals. Everyone got fed, everyone got attention, everyone seemed thrilled with life...except the human adults.

My roommate is still under the weather, so caregiver mode continued. More food, more checking in, more making sure she had what she needed, because that's simply what you do when someone you care about isn't feeling well.

Meanwhile, my own energy level has officially filed for early retirement.

I am absolutely exhausted.

And yet...

Here I am.

Still working.

Still checking things off my endless to-do list.

Still refusing to sit still for very long because apparently my brain thinks sleep is just an optional hobby.

The really exciting part?

In about ten days, my newest novel, Married to Diablo, officially makes its grand entrance into the book world. It'll be available through my online bookstore along with retailers including Barnes & Noble, Lulu, Books-A-Million, and Amazon. Watching another book finally leave my desk and find its way into readers' hands never gets old. Every manuscript starts as a messy collection of ideas, random notes, late-night inspiration, and enough coffee to keep an entire café in business. Somehow, eventually, it becomes an actual book.

That's still pretty magical.

Of course, because I apparently don't understand the concept of taking a break, I've already started writing Novel Number Five.

It doesn't have a title yet.

It doesn't need one yet.

Right now it's simply another adventure that's taking shape one chapter at a time. Like several of my other books, it'll blend about fifty percent real life with fifty percent fiction, sprinkled generously with sarcasm, a little wisdom, some life lessons, a few laughs, and just enough dramatic flair to keep things interesting. Basically...my usual style. If I can't make people laugh while making them think, am I even writing?

Tomorrow brings another restart.

My calorie counting has slipped a little lately. I don't think I've gained anything back, but I definitely feel like I've parked myself on one of those incredibly annoying weight-loss plateaus that refuses to move. I'd still like to lose another thirty to fifty pounds, so it's time to tighten things back up.

Back to what actually works for me.

Protein shakes.

Protein bars.

Chicken.

Rice.

Fruit.

Vegetables.

Water.

Zero-sugar pop.

Zero-sugar electrolyte drinks.

The occasional 100% juice.

Simple. Affordable. Easy to prepare. Gentle on my colitis. Less time cooking means more time writing, publishing, taking care of people, taking care of animals, and attempting to convince my cleaning pile that it doesn't actually own the house.

Life isn't always glamorous.

Sometimes it's emergency rooms, dirty dishes, sick roommates, exhausted muscles, publishing deadlines, and staring at a blinking cursor while wondering if your brain has quietly wandered off somewhere without permission.

But it's also books being born.

Dreams moving forward.

People helping people.

Animals with full bellies.

Hope.

And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow I'll remember that I can't pour from an empty coffee cup...although I'll probably try anyway.

July 16, 2026

Dear Chronic Fatigue... We Need to Talk.

Dear Chronic Fatigue,

First of all... your five-star reviews are fake.

You promised me "just a little nap," and somehow turned it into a full-time unpaid internship where my only job is being exhausted.

I'm trying to write books.

You're trying to convince me that opening Microsoft Word is equivalent to climbing Mount Everest.

Honestly? Rude.

Living with chronic illness is like playing life on "Nightmare Mode" while everyone else insists you're just "not trying hard enough."

Oh yes, Karen... you're absolutely right.

I definitely haven't considered drinking more water.

I'm cured.

Thank you.

Someone get this woman a Nobel Prize.

People see me smiling online.

What they don't see is that every sentence I write can take ten times longer than it used to because my body has decided that existing burns through all available battery power.

If phones worked like my body, Apple would have recalled them years ago.

Battery: 2%

Estimated time remaining: Somehow... negative thirty minutes.

I miss having my own place.

There is something magical about closing your own front door and knowing the only drama inside the house is whether you remembered to buy coffee.

Now it sometimes feels like I'm starring in an episode of Keeping Up With the Narcissists.

Spoiler alert:

Nobody wins.

The plot never improves.

The writers should have been fired after season one.

Then there's the wheelchair.

People think the wheelchair is the hard part.

It isn't.

The hard part is remembering the person I used to be could just...

walk into another room...

walk outside...

walk through a store...

walk without planning it like it was a military operation requiring maps, snacks, and a backup plan.

I don't miss walking because walking was exciting.

I miss it because it was ordinary.

And ordinary is a luxury most people never realize they have.

I miss my independence.

I miss deciding to go somewhere because I felt like it.

Now everything depends on transportation, energy, pain levels, weather, appointments, medications, accessibility, and whether the universe woke up choosing chaos.

Sometimes it feels like life has become one giant game of "Maybe Tomorrow."

Spoiler:

Tomorrow usually sends an email saying it needs to be rescheduled.

People say,

"Stay positive!"

I do.

Usually right before sarcasm saves my sanity.

Sarcasm has honestly been carrying this entire operation.

If sarcasm burned calories, I'd have abs.

The hardest part isn't even being tired.

It's feeling like pieces of myself have been slowly packed away into boxes labeled:

"Maybe someday."

I miss laughing until my stomach hurt.

I miss spontaneous adventures.

I miss being excited instead of exhausted.

I miss the version of me that didn't have to calculate every ounce of energy before spending it.

Most of all...

I miss me.

But here's the thing chronic illness doesn't get to decide.

It can steal my energy.

It can slow my body.

It can interrupt my plans.

It can even convince me that a shower deserves its own participation trophy.

What it cannot steal is my voice.

I'll still write.

Maybe slower.

Maybe from a wheelchair.

Maybe between naps that last longer than most television series.

But I'll still write.

Because stories don't come from perfect bodies.

They come from resilient hearts.

So if you know someone living with chronic illness...

Believe them.

Listen to them.

Be patient with them.

Sometimes they don't need someone to fix anything.

Sometimes they just need someone who doesn't make life harder than it already is.

And if you happen to know where my energy ran off to...

Please tell it I have deadlines.

And snacks.

We're willing to negotiate. ❤️

July 18, 2026

Good afternoon, beautiful humans!

Well... would you look at that. It's only a little past noon, and I've somehow managed to accomplish more today than I did over the last two days combined. I know. I'm just as suspicious as you are.

I'm not saying I've suddenly become a productivity guru, but if I keep this pace up, I might actually cross a few things off my to-do list before the sun goes down. Someone check if Mercury has stopped doing cartwheels.

This morning started with the usual animal rounds. The cats have been fed. The dog has been fed. The kitchen chickens have been fed. (Yes, kitchen chickens. Around here we don't ask questions—we just accept the chaos and keep going.)

I've also gathered up some garbage, took care of bathing, squeezed in a little self-care, and even managed to look around the house without immediately wanting to crawl back into bed. Progress comes in strange little packages sometimes.

Meanwhile, my roommate is off at yet another bird show.

Let's all have a moment of silence for the available space in this house.

Because we all know what's about to happen...

She'll walk through that door later today saying, "Look what I found!"

And suddenly we'll have seventeen more feathered roommates with names like Sir Chirps-a-Lot and Princess Peepington.

At this point I don't even ask if we're getting new pets. I just ask what species showed up this time.

The new kittens are doing well, thankfully. We did lose a few after birth, which is always heartbreaking. Their mama was far too young and tiny herself, but she's proving to be a wonderfully devoted little mother. Watching her care for the babies who made it reminds me that even the smallest souls can have the biggest hearts. They're a sweet little family, and I'm rooting for every one of them.

As for me... anxiety has been hanging around like that one guest who ignores every hint that the party is over.

My living situation continues to be one of my biggest stressors. I desperately need an accessible place that's better suited to life in a wheelchair, but right now I don't have a realistic way to afford one or move into one.

So the current plan appears to be...

Step 1: Exist.

Step 2: Continue existing.

Step 3: Repeat while making sarcastic comments.

Not exactly the dream strategy, but it's the one I've got.

Some days I miss walking so much it physically hurts. I find myself praying for working knees more often than I probably admit out loud.

And yes...

I want to move.

I really want to move.

In case the universe missed it the first two times...

Hey universe—I want to move!

Maybe if I repeat it enough it'll become the world's strangest manifestation exercise.

Despite everything, today feels a little lighter.

Energy may not solve every problem, but it sure makes the mountain look a little less impossible to climb.

Now if only allergy season would stop trying to assassinate my sinuses.

Seriously...

Whoever invented pollen owes me an apology.

I swear the trees get together every spring and say, "Let's see how dramatically we can inconvenience Molly this year."

On another important note...

I want a cheesecake.

Not a slice.

A relationship with a cheesecake.

We're emotionally compatible.

Today's random thoughts also include:

• My to-do list keeps reproducing when I'm not looking.
• Dishes are apparently a renewable natural resource.
• I cleaned one area, turned around, and somehow another area became messy. I suspect the dust bunnies have organized.

Still, I'm choosing optimism today.

Not the unrealistic kind that pretends life is perfect.

The stubborn kind.

The kind that says, "Life is currently trying to body-slam me into next Tuesday, but I'm still showing up."

I'll keep writing.

I'll keep creating.

I'll keep advertising.

I'll keep cleaning what I can.

I'll keep hoping for better days.

And I'll keep believing that eventually all of this hard work will lead somewhere brighter.

If you're reading this and today feels heavy for you too, I hope you find one tiny victory to celebrate. Maybe it's getting out of bed. Maybe it's making yourself lunch. Maybe it's simply surviving another day.

Sometimes that's enough.

Thank you for spending a little part of your day with me.

I genuinely wish happiness, healing, and brighter tomorrows for every one of you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mountain of work waiting, a cheesecake calling my name from somewhere in the universe, allergies trying to ruin my afternoon, and approximately a 97% chance my roommate returns home with another feathered family member.

Have an amazing day.

Love ya!

— Molly Roxx

P.S. My roommate just got home from the bird show...

Remember earlier when I joked she'd probably come home with new birds?

Well...

I accidentally manifested it.

She came home with about 30 new birds.

Not thirty bird stickers.

Not thirty bird pictures.

Thirty actual birds.

And from what I understand, most of them are going to be living in the house.

At this point, I don't think I have a roommate anymore—I think I'm sharing my home with the world's tiniest wildlife sanctuary.

If you suddenly stop hearing from me, assume I've been adopted by a flock of judgmental little dinosaurs who chirp every time I try to write a sentence.

On the bright side, I guess I'll never need an alarm clock again.

On the less bright side... I'm pretty sure they're going to hold daily meetings to discuss my life choices and laugh at me.

Send cheesecake.

And maybe earplugs.

Love ya! ❤️

July 20, 2026

Crystal Light, Great Clips & Other Unattainable Luxuries

I've reached that magical stage of adulthood where I can fall asleep during almost any activity. Folding laundry? Nap. Waiting for the microwave? Tiny coma. Washing the dishes? Apparently riveting enough to send me straight into dreamland.

At this point, I'm pretty sure if someone gave me a broom, I'd wake up three hours later hugging it like we'd been through something traumatic together.

I don't need a vacation to Bora Bora.

I need a Tuesday.

Not just any Tuesday.

A Molly Day.

Picture this masterpiece of self-care:

No people.

No animals.

No emails.

No phone calls.

No one asking me where anything is.

Just me, a hairdresser who doesn't ask, "So...any exciting plans today?" because, no Sharon, surviving is the plan.

Throw in enough Crystal Light to hydrate a small village, a mountain of lemon slices that make me feel healthier than I actually am, a lineup of delightfully predictable chick flicks where everyone somehow owns a bakery, and one gloriously long, steaming roll-in shower that lasts until my fingers resemble raisins.

That's it.

That's the dream.

People fantasize about yachts.

Private islands.

Sports cars.

I'd settle for Great Clips and unlimited iced tea.

Dream big, they said.

I'm trying.

Speaking of dreams, Novel Number Five is becoming one of my favorite writing projects yet. The characters have finally started behaving like they own the place—which, let's be honest, fictional characters always do. The story is missing one final ingredient though.

A deep secret.

A mystery.

And oh, do I have one.

It's one of those stories that absolutely cannot be told...yet.

Not until after I move.

One day it'll make perfect sense, and when that day comes you'll probably look back at this blog and say, "Well...that explains a lot."

Until then, my lips are sealed tighter than a pickle jar with a factory seal.

Today's glamorous itinerary remains exactly what you've come to expect from Team Molly:

• Magazine work.
• Cleaning.
• Animal care.
• Random naps disguised as "resting my eyes."
• Wondering why every room I clean somehow creates two more dirty rooms.

I'm beginning to suspect my house is multiplying chores while I sleep.

Speaking of surprises, I got a letter from my ex who's in prison.

Now it's sitting on my table giving me side-eye.

Part of me wants to throw it directly into the nearest volcano.

The other part of me is so ridiculously curious that it's practically vibrating. He still has a very special place in my heart and always will.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but apparently it also keeps estranged wives staring suspiciously and longingly at unopened envelopes.

We'll see which personality wins.

Odds are fifty-fifty.

Life is funny like that.

Some days you're solving plot holes.

Some days you're solving work piles.

Some days you're solving the mystery of where all the pens disappear to.

I'm convinced they run away with missing socks and live happily ever after.

If you've been feeling exhausted lately, consider this your official permission slip to fantasize about whatever version of paradise makes your heart happy. It doesn't have to involve first-class flights or beachfront mansions.

Sometimes happiness is a fresh haircut.

Sometimes it's a giant cup of iced tea.

Sometimes it's two uninterrupted hours where absolutely nobody needs anything from you.

And sometimes...

it's simply making it through another day with your sense of humor still intact.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have magazines to finish, animals to spoil, chores to tackle, and at least three accidental naps penciled into my schedule.

Have a wonderful day, and if anyone figures out where the missing socks, pens, and spare energy all disappear to...please send me a map. I'm beginning to think they're all vacationing together.