Good Lord. I don’t know if I’m super depressed, or bored out of my gourd.
On one hand, we have a participation trophy president being applauded for (finally) wearing a new tie as he proudly announces that he’s going to rescind the protections we have in place to protect Mother Nature/loved ones with pre-existing medical conditions/sacred Native American land/trans kids, all in a partisan effort to embolden legal discrimination and corporate greed in America.
But, and also…
….after seventeen years at the same job, the only new experiences that come into my consciousness these days are those goofy things I summon from my endless daydreams and things I see on TV.
How did this happen, man?
That my son is healthy and happy is not always a strong enough hook to hang my happiness on when I turn in at the end of the day. Where is the escape hatch in the “Groundhog’s Day: Middle Class Social Worker Edition” puzzle room? The only ones I’ve found so far don’t have any safety nets or parachutes. (And pretty soon they won't have healthcare, either.)
But I’d hate to be shown the hard way just how good I’ve got it.
Whatever, dude. I’m gonna go out and run a couple of miles, now, being very careful not to trip and fall so I won’t have to explain to the doctor why my palms are so badly scuffed up when I go in to get my hormone levels checked. You know, just in case it’s that.
However I still maintain this shabby, stabby feeling might be the side-effect of a narcissistic authoritarian’s shit pancake batter being drizzled, slowly, onto the frying pan of American democracy.
Hang in there, y’all. Now more than ever.
That's my piece, and that's my peace. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my silly words. It truly means the world to me. Carry on...