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.

Missives from the Hothouse

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It is November 13th, at least for a few more hours, and it has yet to snow, or even really rain this fall. It is not up to me to complain about it, but it seems as though this absence is something of a malefic sign.

So I listen to Prairie Home Companion –  the new problematic Garrison-free version – in clip form and see parallels, find succor, find fresh kindling to ignite my ire.  I play Dragon Age: Inquisition and listen to Dorian talk about his feelings on Tevinter and see parallels, find succor, and find fresh kindling.  I decide I want to start watching Turn – the historical, rap-free founding fathers War of Independence spy drama, and imagine that…succor, kindling, parallels.

It is infused in everything now.  The caring and the material that makes us remember how draining it is to care.  To be on 24/7, and yet, everything everywhere now is making me care.  It feels a little bit like being lost at sea.  You give up, you drown, but to fight is a limited proposition.  It’s termed, like everything else, with an expiration date. So the waves have been terribly choppy these days.   Frenzies that feel permanent, distractions that last the length of a blink.

There’s MST3K on now, the sounds of the shower and water heater run over its muted black and white battle of spacemen and aliens.  I have pulled a massive knot of hair apart, washed my face, and have a glass of water (notably with ice, albeit melted) in front of me.  There’s more Dragon Age when I’m done, more MST3K, more fake visions of true histories to delve into.  But for now, we sit on the Sunday night windowsill overlooking the world.

My sister’s going for her own interview tomorrow.  I sit here realizing how helpless I am to do anything about how it will go – obviously, I don’t think I’d do any better than she would, sitting in that chair – but I just am so keen for the future.  Sometimes I wish I could just luge through the next four years.  That if I just started now, I could already get moving on it, I could already somehow work off all of this worry and concern.

But, lest anyone believe it possible, I have not figured out how to live more than one moment at a time.

I have started to make bargains in my mind with regard to my own job – what I would do if I got it.  As if irony is the thing that will save me, will make my victory possible.  I am promising to do things I already need to do.  Promising to somehow turn up and push forward and accept and change in ways I have heretofore been unable to do if only fate will give me this new state of affairs.  2016 has been so cruel.

But if you’ve saved my mother, if I suffer in her stead, if these are the balances the gods require, then all of this is fine.  All of this is bearable, I’ll grow strong in the bearing of it.

I don’t think this is the way the cosmos mete out happenstance, in their little silver cups, but I worry.   Sometimes, I’m afraid, I worry.

I don’t steal the air I breathe

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Eegah’s on the TV, Arch Hall, Jr. is about to save the day.

I am somewhat calmer after making the possibly regrettable choice to tell an old coworker that I thought it was pretty crazy to think that anybody could vote for Donald Trump.  I may have said that I thought he was one of the most putrescent, vile, inept bastards ever to breathe air.  Or something along those lines.  The debate just brought out the worst in me, made my face all red, made me enraged.  I do feel almost sleepy now after all of that now that I said something rather than bottled it up yet again.

It won’t be a good thing, even if this has been a factor that has made my friendship with this woman essentially only a tacit one.  She’s said some pretty frustratingly “Fox News” sorts of things over the years (read: overtly racist) and I have always felt ashamed of how I handled that.  I felt like I knew that we can’t go sit in a Mexican-owned restaurant, get served by kind and generous people, and make cracks about lazy Mexicans.   Not only is that shit unacceptable at any time or place, but we were social ambassadors.  We were employed to have deep connections with community members of all types and I heard some asinine things over the years.  I never found a way to call it out.

So, now, even though she kindly cheers me and thinks I’m a smart girl (unlike the rest of my useless generation) and likes every post I put up and wants me to do well, I decided tonight was the night.  If she doesn’t know who to vote for, I’d at least give her the benefit of my revulsion at her indecision.

I may have been inspired by this which made me think of Le Tigre and the Distillers and zines and my first brush with feminism:

Yes.  Not a great choice, not likely to change her mind at all.  But if one person just says, wait, you’re fuzzy on this?  Why?  Maybe that will have some tiny ripple effect.

Ah, I am naive about these things.  And you did not emerge out of the shadows to distract me, so I have some overgrown caveman throwing idiots into the swimming pool to do your part.  That and Civ V.  All to keep me distracted about the fact that I’m hungry, my hair feels too thin, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to get a new job.

Sigh.  Life can really kick a girl when she’s down. I think it will be time for some rum in a bit.

Today, we did the zoo.  That could probably merit its own post, but going as an adult is more about a long walk with incidental animals to stare at than a full-blown event.  I did see a tapir blast a kid back with stream of urine that could probably be used to power wash graffiti off buildings.

So, honestly, how can I complain?

A Venting of Spleen

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The response I am not going to post on Facebook because I don’t know you from Adam (or Eve) and because it’s not my place to hijack someone’s post, however political, to skewer your insipid and self-righteous opinion of the presidential election.  It is not fully sourced and linked.  I accept that and intend to come back and add lots of links.  I may or may not do that as I need to post and be free of this.

However, my blood pressure is at unhealthy levels, and I have to reply to this somewhere so…here we go.

In what world is the manner in which Donald Trump conducts himself as a presidential candidate one that we can elevate above Hillary Clinton?  How can you smugly call a woman who has spent her life in public service a bitch simply by rattling off a list of debunked issues and topics and laugh at those of us who haven’t done their research?

Research what?  How? Sit in front of Fox News and pat ourselves on the fucking back for absorbing the scant moisture available in their partisan vomit?  If you researched anything whatsoever, you’d know that there is no way that Donald Trump is an acceptable candidate for the highest office in the land.  For the expression of American ideals. For anything anyone would want untouched by smarm, self-interest, and profiteering.

Is the Hillary Clinton perfect?  Nope.  Is she the single best presidential candidate we could hope for?  No.  But she is a woman who can take our country forward without driving us all screaming into a ditch and set us on fire with the force of the crash. She is fully capable of handling all that comes with this most delicate of jobs. She can do this because she has political experience which she has used throughout her career to do considerable good – good including the Clinton Foundation  that has saved millions of lives.  A woman who doesn’t look at 50% of her constituency as worthless unless they have sexual appeal.  She has plans for the nation, plans that can be reviewed on her website.  These are tangible truths.

When your choice that you so proudly herald as A CAPSLOCK WORTHY alternative is involved in an ongoing child rape investigation, has destroyed the families who attempted to improve themselves via his university scheme, has shamed, has belittled every single swathe of culture and life in this country save for the much maligned rich white male, I don’t accept your smug delight that comes with it.   You don’t have any particular reason to justify your opinion beyond the handed-down, self-assured delusion of following the party line.  As if somehow that protects you from any stray dissent or evolution of thought reaching in and making you question how marvelous Donald J. Trump might actually be when it comes to anything other than filling up another reality TV slot.   I don’t accept you hitting my friend with this patronizing tone and the silence reverberating back at you like a great well of applause.  It’s not applause, it’s the abyss gagging on your flawed and dangerous condescension and retching it back up at you.

I don’t accept your insinuation that voting for Hillary Clinton is not something I could do after any level of research and personal education.  I’ve been in this, our seemingly shared universe, all this time.  So dumping out those old chestnuts of OOOOH Benghazi or OOOH emails, as if somehow you have the secret knowledge of malice aforethought on the part of Hillary Clinton that you have decided to keep to yourself, you clever, clever girl, is not going to somehow repudiate my choice.  Just because whatever you’ve cooked up is entirely self-fabricated to keep your delusion from oozing at its seams, as zero charges have ever been brought.  If you know something the rest of us don’t, rather than the filthy, slanderous impressions of someone who has nothing more than time to sit on her thumbs and rotate, call a press conference.  Tell us all!

Otherwise, keep your sick down your own gullet, because you’re stinking up the joint.

Here’s a fact: “Many people say” is an unacceptable burden of proof for a fact.

If Donald Trump is elected President, this is going to be devastating to the lives of people of color, women who are going to impacted by his choices for the judiciary, anyone who is related to anyone who lives in a foreign country, anyone doesn’t want their president to have ever laughingly called a woman a pig.  It’s going to take years off our lives.  It’s going send shockwaves through otherwise solid ground.

And the only reason that could be acceptable to you, random woman on the internet is if you are somehow in that mystical fucking Brigadoon where you don’t know any of us who fall into those categories or you just don’t give a shit.

This is all fine if you don’t give a shit if anyone’s life is savaged over the next four years so long as you can march along waving a flag for your own oblivion, unscathed by a world brought low by racism, sexism, homophobia and economic mismanagement on every level.  You’re cheering for that shit to start growing in the bones of our nation.  We’re already struggling like hell to get it out of the blood as it is.

It’s embarrassing as fuck that we can put a former Secretary of State on the same scale as this orange, maggoty ball of mucus and sigh to ourselves, well, I don’t know.  By saying that it’s too close to call, you’re not maligning a really talented, hard-working, and serviceable candidate, you’re just saying you’re incapable of critical thought.  You fail at rational decision making.  It’s not apples and oranges.  You can make a fruit salad out of, either.  For you, it’s apples and stale Cheeto crumbs you scraped off the floor.  One is not a viable choice, however much you shake your fist and laugh at me for going ahead with my apples.

Of course, you get to vote.  Of course, you get the satisfaction of none of this ever so much as flickering the dim 40watt that hangs between your eyes.  Nobody would suggest otherwise, random woman on the Internet.

You want to be right far more than you would ever care about America, so don’t worry.  We’ll just sit you down in front of the TV, don’t worry, we’ll get it on Fox for you, and you can just paste that shit-eating grin right back on through November 8th when we’ll kindly take it back.

Just shut the fuck up about Hillary Clinton.

It doesn’t require an act of faith

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So tonight, I watched a woman get nominated to be President of these United States.  Kind of a big deal.  No, it’s a big goddamned deal. Fucking hell.  How many of these have I watched, have I taken for granted that a woman, with all that it means to be a woman, would never be up on that stage.  Not on her own, not without some level of subordination or support.  Not as Hillary Clinton showed up tonight.  I am so glad that we are in a world that doesn’t take that for granted anymore, and hopefully, oh, goodness, I hope that takes a candidate on his or her merit and says fuck all about their gender.

Time is running late.  I am getting through, myself.  Over at my mother’s, in the silence of the downstairs living room.  She and my father have to get up early for treatment tomorrow and so I have to wonder if it was necessary for me to quietly sit here most of the night.  We didn’t have some lengthy conversation.  She still is in good spirits – I don’t know why I feel like I will arrive and see her gray, languishing in a chair, but she was eating taco salad and gave me some

But it was remarkable to sit here with her as the speakers continued and the energy, the

Pastor Barber, shaking the whole moral core of the convention, driving people to look at who and what their choices were.  I loved listening to him.  I love oratory that is thrilling and we had so many enjoyable speeches.  Sparking fire.

Khizr Khan, speaking of his Muslim son who sacrificed himself to save the troops he commanded.  That father standing on that stage holding a copy of the Constitution.  My god.  The whole of his body held stiff and steady by his grief, and the image of his wife supporting him, tracking him with her eyes.  It forces me to think of the hateful rhetoric I’ve heard from people in the past about the patriotism of Muslims.  I’ve heard it in real, real, real life.  People have said these things and I’ve let them say it all the while they preened about their xenophobia, comfortable in it.   It’s monstrous.

….

As for me, I am just here.  Waiting for a message again.  It’s bullshit that I keep saying is benign, but I’m not sure that it is.  I’m not sure that it’s telling me the right story, but I don’t know what story it is telling yet.  I haven’t gotten to the end.

You! Ugh! That’s a whole other story that is what it is.  It shouldn’t eclipse all the other good news of the day.  This thing begun that needs to die, that I would hate to die, that is this stupid craving I prefer to all my other addictions.  It’s the desire to pull focus, to capture an attention, to delight in driving a story to do just that, to feel power in your abilities.  Now, we just wait for what’s next.

Even in This

burn-that-cd-baby-1169247-639x555I don’t precisely know what’s up with me so I think it’s going to be one of those take two aspirin and check-in in the morning situations.

But in the meantime, since I feel okay except for the ways in which I feel like a boil-a-bag of steamed rice, I am going to draw from my deep internal reservoirs of strength and endurance and figure out something to post today.

One part of me wants to do a bit of a mea culpa because the posts of late have been shoddy at best.  Mostly because I get home and I’m tired and I just want to be done.  I just want to check this item off the list because it is far too ingrained in me not to do it, but it’s not demanding I use it as a framework to massively improve my work.  I’ve been on my feet or at the very least aggressively pleasant all day and despite recognizing how necessary this is to my mental comfort, my house is 88 degrees right now and I feel as though I’ve just come off of one of those failed hot coals Power walks…sheepish and impatient for me to come back to the sort of senses that would never allow me to do that sort of thing to begin with.

So the writing is dry, perfunctory, boring.  I am just…okay with that.  Maybe.  Right now, tonight, I am.  I just do not want to tear myself apart until I’m even moderately organized.

I also…I mean, I don’t really see the value in trying to post in a way that doesn’t reflect what I’m actually feeling today.  There’s no grandiloquence, there’s no hyperbole, there’s no stars crashing from the heavens to affix themselves in the firmament of my eyes.  There is heat and tired and nerves and the rest is just flotsam and jetsam around me.

I could try and distill and extract what I’m thinking about when it comes to my mom – who began her first cancer treatment today – I think if I spent a few moments with it, I could probably make myself unbearably sad.  It is unbearably sad.   But they texted and said it went well and it’s also…it’s also me noticing the things my father says to my mother.  That he wants her to watch Malcolm in the Middle so he can hear her laugh, no, not laugh, chortle.  Because when he hears her laugh he knows that she’s okay.  Or that she looked so beautiful he should have taken a picture (and she really, really did that day) and those things might have a sadness, but they’re also incredible to me.  They’re cheering and relaxing and good.

It’s like after watching that terrible convention full of hate and bile and vitriol for one another and thinking for half a second that there’s no way to fight such nasty rhetoric, you remember, wait, I like people and I believe in the goodness of others and I have no need for misery.

I can see the good even in this.

Kale: Day Twenty-Eight

I wanted to title this post with my autocorrect fail of the day where I was texting our market manager and accidentally sent over a message about our kettle porn app – but I’m worried that might draw the wrong kind of kettle fan.

If this blog is essentially an extended daily status update, well, ahem, what am I doing right now?  Listening to the State of the Union, adoring our President at the moment, not ignoring his imperfections, but the foundation the glorious rhetoric is built on.  The security I feel because I believe what he’s striving for is right.   I’m also thinking about grabbing one more thing to eat.  And of course, it goes without saying, but it can’t go without saying, I got to work, struggled with the workload, and got home.  The sun did its part and I did mine.  We have more bad weather coming up and I am not thinking about it because I can’t change it.  I want to, though, oh hell, do I want to.  But as soon as I gain this magical omnipotence and grant the earth an eternal summer beginning right now in the middle of this hemisphere’s winter, I would bother to let you know, but I’m thinking you will probably be alerted.  

I am also dealing with the driving panic, finding it controlled and becoming more and more convinced that it has to do with some kind of mild dizziness I am experiencing, very mild, almost unnoticeable except when I stop after driving some distances at 40 mph or so.  When the road starts to wiggle and stretch around in front of my eyeballs and I think that obviously it’s not logical to believe the road is actually doing that so I worry that it’s my blood sugar and I’m feeling faint and feeling faint is probably one of the worst things you could be when you’re driving and people need you to be alert so then it makes me feel like, hell, if you could just get out of the car and breathe, but oh god oh god you can’t get out of the car and the breathing starts to get shallow and the blinker lights start to irritate and whoosh, it’s time to go and I feel fine again.   So yeah, all of that is happening, but I am dealing with it.  I’m not not driving which to me is about all I can plan on.

As the day dwindles, I don’t really know what to focus on.

Maybe it’s time for a food update.  It’s day two…two?  I fucked up today.  But the screw-up was not that I ate something carbtastic, but that I didn’t eat at all.  I just keep running out of time, mostly because I prioritize the video game and doing this and the decompression I find myself continuing to desperately need.  Tonight, though, I’m going to make time for it, because that sucked the big one today (though I did fill up tonight on taco salad sans tortilla) and if one is to believe the scale, I’ve lost a 1.9 pounds.  It doesn’t matter legitimately at this stage when it’s all water weight and the way the wind blows.  But hey, on the pathless journey feels a bit better than sitting one’s ass in the middle of the road and waiting to be run over.

I don’t know what