Not.
I never thought I’d see the day that a private security company would lock a legislator out of the Dept of Education, or that doctors would have to create a sort of black market underground cache of data retrieved by “the way back machine” in order to preserve medical data that they find necessary or helpful. It’s all so unbelievably sick. USAID is a tiny drop of money in the grand scheme of things. The Alt National Parks Service and Heather Cox Richardson are my peanut butter and jelly lately. Life would totally completely suck right now if I weren’t 100% sure that Trump, Musk, Moms for Liberty, the Heritage Foundation, most of the GOP, and all the authors of Project 2025 weren’t fast-tracked for some version of Hell the minute they die. God’ll get ’em, and it won’t be what they expect. Like, all the babies that die of AIDS because of you, all the people who starve, whatever–YOU will suffer in the end, you stupid effing bigots and psychopaths! And all your poor broken deluded followers like busted electronic toys eternally spitting out your pre-recorded sound bites–the types that denied they had COVID while they were actively DYING of COVID, well, you fools will eventually see the light as well.
I really needed to vent. On my site, I feel like I’m talking to myself. Can’t TOTALLY flip on them on social media. Social media is almost Antisocial Media, and FB’s got AI trying to finish my sentences for me and deleting my “irrelevant” comments when I try to explain that Dems aren’t completely evil cuz we brought Social Security and the legal 2-day mother-effing weekend to the table.
But in other news, I did visit France, and I LOVED Bordeaux. I’m living a scrappy low-income version of a rockstar life. For instance, my friend is a model, so I’m actually going to go a fashion show! Will wonders never cease?
I watched a show about George Harrison. I watched A Hard Days Night. I am reading Walden for the first time. I need to get back to meditation. I would like a Tarot deck. Muppets rule, and NPR should not lose their Pentagon office. .
Phoebe Wilcox, Writing Like the Deadline is Death 