Hello, one and all. How’s it going for you on this particular January morning?

Um, wait, what was that?

I’m sorry. I promise you that I’m genuinely interested in your answer. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to focus on your feels. I truly would.

It’s just that I’m rather scattered at the moment.

Sigh.

Sure, I’d love to wax political about the guy who just moved into his new digs at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in our nation’s capital — and the most recent former occupant of that residence. And how they could have played a little nicer in its sandbox.

Oh, I’m no Washington, D.C., Realtor but I’m pretty confident that place has got a sandbox. I mean it’s got a tennis court, a jogging track, swimming pool, movie theater, billiards room and bowling alley, so I’m just spitballin’ here.

Either way.

I’d love to chat ad nauseam about how the first guy is an unsteady, doddering boob who makes very little sense any and every time he talks. Er, wait, was that the second guy? Oh, that’s right. It’s both those grumpy old men.

Yeah, I totally want to contribute to the ongoing national pukefest that is the fallout from their unprecedentedly ugly election.

OK, now I’m flat out lying. I couldn’t want to weigh ANY LESS on anything even remotely related to this election season — which apparently is NEVER GONNA END.

For the love of all that is holy, someone please make all the icky stop already.

Sheesh.

And yeah, I’m curious how your 150K-step-a-day strategy’s shaping up — or if your turmeric and Twizzlers diet has trimmed your tummy yet.

I want to know all about your New Year’s cleanse concoctions and your predictions for who’ll end up facing dumb ol’ Tom Brady in the Super Bowl.

Stupid superhuman, drop-dead gorgeous, never-ages, negative body fat, has the perfect family, Tom Brady. You just KNOW his team will end up in the big show.

Rotten rugged rogue. Yeah, I’m bitter. Whatevs. #GoBills

Anyhoo, I’d really, really LOVE to get your take on cloth masks vs. face shields or working from home vs. in the office or whether or not you’d get on a plane right now for a million bucks and so on and so forth.

It’s just that I’ve got a really busy schedule today.

First on tap is moping about. After which will come the hours-upon-hours of uncontrollable sobbing. Luckily, I’m a multitasker, so I’ll easily be able to worry myself into a veritable tizzy at the exact same time as all the crying.

I’m super talented like that. Think of me as the Tom Brady of weeping.

Shoot, after that, I’ll be lucky if I’ve got enough energy left to refill the tissues a third time before the second shift begins.

Fine. The kid went back to college and I’m a total wreck. There. I admit it.

What can I say? Moms miss their sons. Like a lot.

Sniff.

Ding dang it! I thought by the second half of his junior year, I’d be fine.

But clearly it’s more likely that Joe will swing by Mar-a-Lago for a night cap than me suddenly snapping out of my Mom funk, capisce?

Sorry. I promise to be better next week. Until then, I’ll just be in the corner whimpering, so just like everything else so far this year, please stand by.

• Kimerer is a columnist currently scheming ways to shuffle off to Buffalo. Contact her with fastest routes via www.patriciakimerer.com.