re-start the goddamned regular. get back to it.
what are you going to do today to re-begin, after yet another discovery of the depths of white supremacy in the culture I come from? yet another being the weight here. so much fucking weight. guess it really is MY PEOPLE’s HOUSE. I can wave a gun and run right in because of how i look? oh? I never knew. all this time, a priviledge i didn’t know i had.
FUCK EM ALL.
really. i mean it. those fearful little whining losers. they are literally protesting that their candidate lost. nothing else. no grand social statement, nothing. sore losers. used to be socially unacceptable to be a sore loser. well.
today i’m grounding back down. i’ve got to write at least two thousand words of my ghostwriting job, to be on track, and i don’t know man, i need to spin and re-focus. so here’s what i am going to do. a list, of course.
- drink the coffee, all of it. it is your right as homeowner and kitchen cleaner.
- set the boundaries: men must admit they like you, in their own words, not as an answer to a question. at the very fucking least. its okay. its a reasonable boundary.
- call the insurance company. maybe their policies have changed. prices of hearing aides sure have. (whammy whammy whammy)
- drink the water, more of it.
- go take care of the chickens, look around at the frozen grass, notice the light on the yard. breathe deep the cold.
- feed the children. bagels for everyone, even me. i can worry about my rotundity another time.
- fold the laundry. have them put it where it goes. all the way away.
- write the story. mike and his girlfriend sandy. oh these names hurt sometimes. Sandy? when was the last time you knew a sandy? sigh. write it anyhow. two thousand, at least. flow.
- stare out the window, watch the rhododendron leaves uncurl.
- be broken. gather the pieces.
- appreciate the life i am in.