And I’ll be damned if I’ll be found there


Every Laura Marling lyric sounds like it’s about Brexit.  She probably didn’t have that in mind when she wrote the songs.  I don’t know why it feels like such a punch to the gut. Too much Anglophilia. I find it actually deeply…bothersome.  Angering?  Maybe?  I suppose the financial impact will have its own sway on the matter.  I have things to say, but I’ve bleated them out on Twitter.  Enough of my opinions on that, none of which will shift the world any further than it’s shifted itself.

Between this and all the other delights that 2016 thus far has had to offer (my grandpa, whatever’s going on with my mom’s health, the fact that we even are considering Donald Trump for anything but a late-night infomercial shill), I’m feeling a bit panicky and high-strung after a day of being way, way, way too chill about everything.  Numb and distracted and yes yes yes to everything just to make it go away.   And then feeling guilt about that.  I keep having flashbacks to the old job, possibly because I’m now working within walking distance of old job and continually have conversations relating to old job.  I was always freaking out like this, always exhausted and running and upset.  I left that because of this.  I wanted, even if it meant not having the same amount of pay, to just feel steady and calm and have order.  The absence of stress was worth this to me.  Now, with far less pay and triple the stress, seems as though this is a bad way to go through life, I must tell you. We’re swinging on a very long rope.   The power went out at precisely 4:58p.m.  There are signs everywhere, for everything.  For right now, however, I am taking my four day weekend of working at the retail job where I am blobby and awkward but negligible rather than the job where I am essential and negligible all at once.

I wrote exceptionally well yesterday.  Words came slipping and a’sliding out of me with ease.  It’s easy to do, I find, when you’re writing to someone, for someone, when you have their attention to keep and not just the pathless noodling of one’s own thought to try and follow along.  It was nice.  Less nice to not have the applause at the end of all that, to have to be very patient and assume nothing and wait to hear on its reception.  I have no say in so many things, so I have to just enjoy the work. This way it can’t be for naught because I’m at least getting my words written and stretching different writerly muscles while I do it.  Let the giddy things be giddy and not worry about the rest.

I don’t know where else to drag myself today.  I’ve put on Grace Under Fire, thinking that there can’t be too much there to raise the ol’ blood pressure.

We can look ahead.  We can look ahead.  But we don’t have to look.

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