Watching Turn while messing about on the internet.
Work essentially said – you’re responsible for earning the funds to pay your paycheck after this so. If you don’t earn it, you don’t get paid. After all of the already deflating news already, I feel…pissed? Frustrated beyond my perpetual beyond? Done? I understand it. I understand the necessity for draconian measures. There’s no survival without them, probably even with them. Well. Yep. That’s never going to happen. We have to see how that’s never going to happen. I have no capability of doing that. I don’t WANT to do that. We all sat there silently in our chairs for an aggressively long period of time after the news.
So. Come on new job! Give me the chance to just say bugger off. It again ups that emotional ante for when it inevitably is given to some other nice lady or nice young man or nice whoever and I have to reassess the facts of my reality. I should do it anyway, I will have to do it anyway, but if this is the reason, it would be such a nice reason. It would be such a balm.
It’s all mind games. Something for a yes, something for a no. Everything to keep the boat from rocking. A magic, a spell, a prayer, a test. The uncertainty is making me seasick these days, it’s straining my neck. I want to say let the chips fall where they may, but I find myself profoundly unable to stop dancing, stop bargaining, stop freaking out.
That has long been my foremost defense. Freak out, freak out in advance so that reality is a much smaller step up when we’re faced with it. And right now, I am too tired to even begin to pose the hypotheses so it’s just everywhere. The crap of this year, my slice of it, my go at 2016 is weighing upon me fiercely and I can’t wrap my head around it all.
Instead, we look, amidst the fuzzy hell of negative maybes, for the firm, glossy, transparent joys.
The kitten is tremendous and lovely and good. Wild, of course, but that’s only because we feed her and so she has energy to burn. She has been climbing on everything to the point where she’s chasing President Obama’s hands around the screen as we watch today’s press conference together. Sliding off the back of the toilet. Nibbling on my toes.
One of my most respected and admired reporters liked a tweet.
I wrote a little thing. I communicated with someone I know voted for Trump in a somewhat considered way.
I ate wings that I really enjoyed at the time, but right now feel a little bit acidic in the old’ tum.
I’ve now watched, muted, about 9 hours of Turn. I think I can say I know what’s going on – that and JJ Feild would be perfect aside from the tiny braid.
There will be books to read. There will be songs to sing. It’s just eight hours. No reason to get jumpy.