Terror in the Year 9000

Might be the title, might be just something I have to say.  Things are pretty crazy these days.  If anything I want ever comes to pass, I might like to have a reckoning of these days before they ruin me entirely.  Something to pass down.  Not that it’s genius.  Not that anyone would care.  But maybe it would help motivate me to recall that there is more than just absorbing and consuming the plot points of other people’s lives as a method of passing my own.  It would, at the least, in the end, remind me that I have one or two thoughts that ping inside my cerebral cortex and make five hundred words worth of sense.

Tomorrow we vote.  What else is there but that? People might follow it up with prayer but prayer these days just feels like giving the Devil your PIN.  Suddenly all your hopes and dreams laid bare to people that have no empathy for them, no sympathetic regard.  I don’t know what will happen if people don’t put a chain on the beast.  I don’t know what it means for our undying souls.  People starve in this world every day, and in Yemen, by numbers that are so unholy, so unbearable to comprehend, the fact that anyone can sleep at night, can fold their hands and feel so pleased at the catbird seat upon which they sit blows my mind.   I don’t know how I will feel if the result isn’t positive.  I don’t know how to re-route the despair and fear.  I’ve done my part, I don’t know anyone who isn’t voting, if I find anyone I can reach out to tomorrow that will make any whit of difference, I shall.  And the rest has to be made to be survivable.

I say this because it is not as though I’m not doing my own sorts of small horror as it is.  We smashed up a bunch of people’s lives today.  Once I would have been despondent over the fact that people I work with are now no longer going to be working with me.  I would have known each person’s wife’s name, where their kid went to school, some factoid that would build a red thread between us.  I would be able to visualize the ways in which this is going to fuck their shit up.  Now, perhaps because I needed to find that way to make the job survivable – to not let it claim the creative parts of my self and soul – I walled off a lot of both myself and my interest in others.  So I don’t know the specific ways in which this damage has been done, I just know that it happened, and that distance is making it possible for me to think about parties and daylight savings and strange curiosities come and gone.

I think this is growing up?

More to say, more skin in more games.  Suffice it to say, I wanted to hear the world the way I say it and not through anyone else. So here I am.

Unaccountably Peckish (Here’s Hoping)


And now we wait.

For boys to wake up, for cards to turn, for time to run out, for hair to dry, for itches to take to the scratch, for London to rise, for bravery to outweigh procrastination, for earworms to crawl toward their exits, for the revelation to be revealed.

Boys that aren’t boys.  Boyz that have gone through the whole process and have properly turned 2 men.  Ahem.  Sorry.  It’s late and I have a sugar-headache and there’s no shaking it as I took some aspirin and quickly had a nosebleed so I am just going to drink some water and stop my excessive thinking.  Boys.  Men.  Ones who have expressly stated that they need to be bonked on the head to realize a girl might like them.  A lady.  A woman.  Funny how funny that feels, like five glass marbles I’m trying to mumble through.  A woman and a man called so by virtue of nothing, really.  I’ve always prefered being a girl.  Ah.  So, it is entirely up to me if I feel anything whatsoever to Charlotte Lucas it.  So not my strong suit.

And in the wings, a kind person I feel, completely arbitrarily less for.  Hovering.  Curious.  Asking how I am doing and I care, but on several orders of magnitude less that I do for this man I have arbitrarily decided is the pick of the litter.  Neither of whom are in anyway positioned to knock on my door and invite me to dinner.  All of this is talky-talk trouble.  But that’s where I do my worst and best work.  Where I conjure marvels, where I skin my palms and knees.  He just wants me to say hi.  I feel like saying hi is a minor betrayal.  It ain’t, but I got my plans, and this is a complication in that it requires me to grow some parts and say, I am delighted for your friendship, but we’re both here for the purpose of finding someone for whatever lies beyond friendship and I don’t want to waste your time when I am pining…waiting…scrying out a good moment for someone else that will probably come to naught and yet, even then, I don’t think we’re compatible anyway so don’t be mad at me for letting you bark up this tree because it feels nice to be appreciated.  Just because friendship itself feels warm and nice after so many long years out in the open air.

I know how this shit goes.  I had to throw one tormented artist to the proverbial curb to take up with a devil-may-care, honey-addled jewel thief.  It’s the chase! We wish to be better than that, but ah, life is meant to be fun at some point so it might as well be now.  At least it’s not a Rubbery Man.


We had all the cupcakes and frappuccinos and tacos and orzos and oh nos that exist in the world if you end up looking for some tomorrow.  I also have a Chipotle gift card I attempted to give away five months ago.  Once that is spent, I believe I will also be well and truly done.

Here’s hoping!

Subsume: Day Two Hundred Fifty-Three



Ever still, there is the worst feeling which ebbs and flows at my temples and will go away when it goes away, not one moment sooner.  Do you ever wish…never mind, strike that from the record, nobody ever wishes.  Never ever.

In other news, I have bought a ticket to go tour the Vatican.  Which, I suppose means they’ll have to let me in unless one of those puffed and reckless Vatican guards sees fit to pike me off the property.  I hope to not give any cause, but I would like to see those fellows in action.  They seem like such human anachronisms, sort of like how we go to the Renaissance Faire, only they do it every day because it’s their job and they have to be threatening (insofar as anyone’s going to be making trouble at the Vatican of all places) and I…

I’m mainly afraid that I’m going to have to fight a terrible urge to yell FUCK! everywhere I go to avoid getting thumped by a man who is dressed like he is one tower of the Kremlin.  (And now, having looked up to verify what the uniform looks like, I realize they’re the Swiss Guard which I think I knew at one point and they’re not so very Wizard of Oz-ish or candy cane-esque as my imagination held, but they’re still a bit silly as far as military forces seem to go, garb-wise.  Not that I’m saying anything worthy of piking.  Don’t hurt me.)

I also have a plan for Florence, day 1 – to get there, checked in at the Hotel, get a shuttle to the City Center, then take this pair of tours which I think will keep me in contact with English-speaking folk, which isn’t necessary, really, but I think since I’ll be on my own, more or less, has a sort of comforting element I can’t deny.

Ugh, ugh, time is running out.   I have spent the night after our post-work event legitimately finishing my resume.  Tomorrow night I should be able to put together the cover letter and email it off to her as requested before next Monday’s interview.  I wanted to let my boss know before she went on vacation, but now, I don’t think I have time to meet with the potential new new boss at her office anytime before she leaves and I can’t jump the gun.  It would be awful.  Even though right now, going to events with people who I have come to know and in some cases really cherish and not saying…I know this is a broken record if you’ve been following me for the past week or more, but it’s been emotionally turbulent.  Writing the resume did sort of help re-affirm that I would probably hire me.   And that I can do this job that I’ve been offered.   I gotta focus on that and not the unassailable awful that questions me.

I didn’t play Sims 4 tonight …though maybe I will for an hour just to run some sandpaper over these sharp edges.

Fractional Romance

Here’s what I remember now:

  • I enjoy the power of textual bullets.  They keep you from thinking you have to say everything all at once.  They let you feel that you can break it down, bird by bird, and then the list will become greater than the sum of its parts.
  • It is Friday.  It’s hard not to just fully capitulate to the great psychic draw that a Friday night has – window to the weekend.  Freedom and personhood regained.  And I am a person with a mission.  I have to go get my haircut and my brows waxed. I think this will be good for all.  I am trying, based on what I garnered from the last therapy session that I really shouldn’t be hanging just personal upkeep, nice, normal activities on whether or not I lose weight.  I don’t want to turn into an actual wildebeest by the time I get to a particular goal.   Or at least, if I need to do it, I can just do it and think of something else, lovelier, more extravagant to reach for.  Something just for me and less about pleasing other people.
  • So that is happening tomorrow morning.  Sorry, just felt compelled to throw a bullet at you.  (Tried using cha for you, but felt awkward about it.)   It’ll be bright and early so that I can do the next step and go buy the book that she said to buy.  This means I will drive a bit out of the norm to the bookstore, given the absence of local alternatives much to our continued despair and chagrin, and I’ll buy it.  I could be sensible and try and check it out.  That might be sensible.  I don’t know if I need to own a book on anger.  We’ll see.
  • Then, I desire to clean out the car properly and get all these jackets out and then go over and see if my sister’s ready for the mall.  I, at this time, plan to drive there.   She said to go alone and I’d be happy to go alone, but we’d already talked about doing this.  Maybe we can go separately.  I know they’ll look at me as though I’m planning to ride a buffalo into a china shop and that it’d be best and easiest if I just went with them and I know it’ll take every fiber of moral strength and character not to take a knee on this, but I gotta.
  • Then, then, then! We will become absolutely strange for a few hours.  We will vanquish terror! We will adhere ourselves with exclamation! We will sing to the heavens!  We will drink the clearest water from the crystalest of glasses!  We will make hay!  We will sun shines! We will be unbound and unbristled and unfettered by alliteration or any such bondage, figurative or literal.  We will remember our old ways.  We will refuse all offers and welcome all comers.  We will stomp and track and sink into the undergrowth.   We will roll in the dirt!  We will praise the mountains that gird us against the indignities of life in the flatlands.  We will follow so that you will follow.  We will wear our crown of glory before it pricks us and lets out all the daylight.