The Sign that Signifies


Today was the day, dear internet, that among 9000 other chilling and horrific things, we learned that the incoming man some may call President is “mulling” a Muslim registry.  Like…fuck off.  FUCK THE FUCK RIGHT OFF.  Let’s just remember that in a year’s time and pray, holy, holy, that we can sigh deeply that it was just another empty, disturbing, sickening campaign promise that never came to fruition.

I achieved one thing at work today – I got a hard drive for our server sent to us after spending nearly 45 minutes in a chat with a tech trying to access it.  Finally, I threw out the idea of checking the IP, and there were photographs, and essentially, I got a job done.  I also got paid.  Sort of.  And maybe for the last time (well, also, sort of, depending on events unfolding.)

Still watching Turn, finding it cheesier somehow with the sound off, though there’s a few of the actors and actresses that I find really…grating at this point.  The whole John Andre/Peggy Shippen thing.  I just don’t.  I don’t.  The historicity seems to have fallen nearly completely away so that even if these are historically true plot points, they all have this varnish of soap opera coating them which is unfortunate.  Now I’d like to see Connor leaping between the trees and taking some of this patriot loads and redcoat jerks out if we’re going to be so chatty about this whole business.


I do feel better now.  Another evening’s drive where I am irritated and panicky and insensible.  Caffeinated, distracted by more insane boss news.  I feel like I don’t hear anything except the most bizarre and heinous things these days.  I sit in my office, unable to act on my work and stressing about that, letting filing pile up because each piece of paper is attached to an issue I can’t progress, and then suddenly, I hear all sorts of news about people getting fired, husbands suddenly coming down with things and meetings being cancelled, everything just curiouser and curiouser and whatever is the name of the place past curiouser.  The place when you know that you just need to get this other job and this other situation and move on.  The place when people are telling you to write letters to that effect.

Oh, right, 1/2 of the whole move just got smashed because the nice guy who was going to let us set up shop for a few months up and sold the space, so there’s no needing to worry about driving to the moon.  Thanks for all of the worries and time spent trying to calculate how I could even begin to deal with that when it was completely needless (and because all of this is talking out of school, I also thought it was dumb.)

Ah, so jolly, so jolly.  I do feel better now.  Washed my hair, have the day at the shop tomorrow to await the phone call/email that will make the fate decided.

And then, finally, I can stop talking about it!

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