Answer the Hail

The thing I think I can think about right now is that I have enough time to write all the words I could ever want to write.

I have an hour here and I can easily provide the universe with five hundred words.  Even if my attention span isn’t long enough to think of the precise analogy I want to make about mayflies and hummingbirds.  Everything is buzzing so quickly and there’s no need.  We are not in any sort of race and it would be grand to have our brain engaged as we deal with the things that dealing with is requested.
Some things that over this long period of not posting you are likely unaware of:
I have a new bathroom.  It is almost, almost done.  There is art on the wall, and the murky, slimey sht brown walls are now white and it no longer feels as though you’re taking your turn in a dark outhouse that might instantly be converted into a coffin every time you use it.  The bathtub is sparkling white.  There is a glass case full of boxes in which, one assumes, I will soon put my particular lady-items so they’re hidden away beneath shelves of neatly appointed white towels.  There is a glass display of my fortune telling notes and a glass case full of a vintage rabbit door stop.  There is a wall of gloriously spa, sea foam green, vintage tile.  There will soon be a haunted mirror – albeit haunted by a ghost who wants you only to see yourself in the best possible light.   There’s a oil-rubbed bronze faucet that pours out a fountain of water into this deep basin.
There’s still some things to do.  Baseboards are not back where they should be, the medicine cabinet I hate is not yet spray-painted white and hung, the mirror needs to be hung, the faucet and shower head will remain a terrible silver for now, the vent needs replacing.  The toilet seat needs to be changed out because the new one creaks and I’m terrified it’s going to send a shard of plastic up my rear at some inopportune moment.  The door is still going to this honey brown because painting one side of a door is apparently gauche and changing that would mean changing all doors everywhere.  And that is a project too grand for me to finance.
Suffice to say, this suffices.  This little room makes me terribly happy.  Because it is visible change that I instigated and my family executed at my direction and being in there does make me feel hopeful which is necessary in this time where you wonder how the hell you’re ever going to feel hopeful about anything again.  Just terror from on high day in and out.  I worry about leaving the fan on in case the fan overheats at how much I need it to cool things down.  It’s just one little fan, you know?  Fighting against the heat death of the universe.  Hard not to feel empathetic towards it and say you’ll get by, let the darkness do what it can.
What else?  I am deeply, deeply grateful that I have Critical Role.  I’m going to get home.  Say something to J because I feel out of sync there.  Life has de-synchronized me.  I follow the wills of the chemicals inside my brain.
Oh, I suppose I should also note, because it is impossible, and yet it is true:  I have a doctor’s appointment in a few weeks.
Maybe there doesn’t need to be commentary about that just yet.

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