At a time like this
Comparing a political addiction
To being a sports fan
Is particularly apt.
The San Francisco Bernieniners lost a sudden death playoff game.
I have zero interest in either of the teams that’ll be going to the Super Bowl.
I don’t like halftime commercials
Or the kind of singers they get to perform for the pigskin troops.
I ain’t gonna study war no more.
The subject is at least temporarily dead to me.
I imagine some of you are reading that with relief.
Even I sort of hope that it holds. I suspect that I will continue to watch my five youtubers and listen to my ten podcasts.
But I don’t feel like there’s much point in making it a central theme, for myself, or for you my beloved.
So back to my RT on the dirt road.
I went to their meeting, speaking of pointless, on Monday. And I danced the jig they mandated, and then I completely disappeared from their view for three days.
It sort of took me that long to get the dishes done and I wish I was lying. Maybe nicotine withdrawal. Maybe existential dread. I really don’t know what was wrong with me, but whatever the psychosickness, I seem to be better now.
At the end of the three days I went in to the deserted offices and got exactly one thing done, which was to answer their fretful emails about where I was and whether I was "okay".
No, motherfuckers.
Nobody’s okay just now.
I didn’t say that.
I said that I was "fine" using a lot of words. The words meant: Look, I know you just fired me, and that you’re unsure how unstable my reaction to that, and everything else, might be. You should worry. Because that’s justice. But …
In fact you have no reason to worry, motherfuckers.
Because the human resource you just lost your grip on is a true jewel, and too much concerned with personal honor to do a shitty job. Or to come cough in your recently troubled smug faces like you deserve; at least not yet, because I have no symptoms, and because you haven’t screwed yourselves that badly, at least not yet, so shut up and breathe.
"I’ll be working straight through the weekend," I concluded.
On this Friday I woke at ten, and by two I was nearly ready to head into town again and do real work in my real office.
But then I remembered something.
Unless I need gorgeous printing … there’s really only one reason to go there now, and that’s bandwidth.
But …
Earlier in the week, my hotspot silently upgraded itself.
Instead of being limited to 25 GB a month, which is tight …
Suddenly I now have 55 GB, which is … probably just barely enough even without a single packet’s worth from the school pipe.
Moreover, this boon was granted with just a few days left in the billing cycle, which ends tonight at midnight.
Which means that I have about nine hours to burn thirty gigs, which … even I would be hard pressed to do.
So there’s no point in driving into town today, though tomorrow there is.
All I really have to do is focus, on their shit, instead of my own, for a rational number of hours before sleeping again.
I can do that, if I have to, and … I sorta do.
But first
I’ll write my spill for today, get good and rightly caught up.
I’ll text with my sister the warrior survivor.
I’ll brush my teeth and take off another layer of the smoke scum.
I will cook a frozen pizza and give the best pepperoni bits to my indoor stray foster cat, who is slowly learning to love and learn her own name.
I will open the front door, latch the screen, look out at the dirt road as I type, and listen to the very shy tinkling of the wind chime that is shaped like a sailing ship.
Seems right.
Some people just want to watch the world.