Jul. 14th, 2017

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… my Activities page says I only have 6 notes. Whether I set it to display the last 24 hours, the last 7 days, or the last month, it still says I have only 6 notes. … If I scroll down, all my notifications are still there, but… the stats… I don’t know. I’d screenshot but I have this weird notion that it’s rude to talk about how many followers you have unless you have, like, a lot. (I think I made that up?)

In general I’m sort of bizarrely brainfoggy lately, so the notes anomaly is just mildly confusing really. Today I sat down at work and got GDocs open– I usually pick some bit of writing to work on, open it up, and then have it in a tab while I’m working, since I have so much lag time with my VPN, so I can toggle back and forth and be pretty well in the zone for both my primary and secondary task, which means free writing time, whee– 

but I just sort of glanced over the various docs of my WIPs, and actually literally thought, what’s the point, and closed them all. I can’t get excited about anything I’m working on, which is bizarre and not very like me. I have a lot of, like, appetite to write, but then I actually have a document open, and I can’t make myself actually formulate any thoughts? It’s not like writer’s block, where I don’t know how to say what I need to say– it’s one step even beyond that, where I can’t manage to understand quite why anyone would ever bother writing anything, but I have this reflexive habit of writing honed by literal decades of practice at this point. 

I’m having the same problem with most things, though. I put my teaching myself to embroider on hold because I kept not being able to come up with patterns to practice because why put patterns on things? The painting I did the other day, I finished it and set it on the fridge on the back porch after it was dry, and the wind’s blown it onto the floor and I step over it and occasionally think I should do something with that before it gets ruined but, then, like, what? What’s the point? What are you supposed to do with things? I don’t know. 

I’m definitely missing a cog. 

I just spent three hours, in which I’d planned to do something else, blankly reading a page on Reddit, which I don’t usually do, just because it was a thread and if I kept scrolling there was more. I wasn’t even entertained, I just didn’t have a “stop” mechanism. 

I have no idea how I’m going to manage to get myself packed to go to the farm tomorrow. I already gave myself the evening off and said I’d come out Saturday, but, ugh, I need to like. Organize myself and bring clothing and such, because I brought a lot of laundry home last time so if I just go back and count on wearing whatever’s left in the yurt, there won’t be, like, underwear, or something. 

Why. Why is there anything. I don’t know. Why do we do things? What are we supposed to do with ourselves? I don’t know.

Maybe the most annoying thing is that while my horrible death cough is mostly gone, it’s not entirely? but worse, I have near-constant phantom itches and can’t tell if it’s dry skin or bugs crawling on me? The worst is that it’s often actually bugs, this summer is the worst. 
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boring bonus screenshots of my hilarious activity page:

like for real my guy? okay for real. sure. 
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ughhh god. I don’t care, and nobody cares, but my stupid brain won’t be satisfied if I don’t write something, and god nobody cares but nothing matters either so if you’re going to waste time by being alive you might as well make something!

I actually have a whole new Lost Kings story sitting there finished that I can’t muster the attention span for one final proofreading pass through, so there’s that. Maybe I can make myself do that today. It doesn’t matter if anyone reads it because nothing matters. 

If not, I have a couple of squares of fabric that I’ve trimmed and squared, and so I can just sit and hem them. That’s completely simple and requires no decisions or commitment to an aesthetic, and still has the benefit of being something I can do with my hands so I don’t sit and fret.

(There’s a lot to fret about. Mitch McConnell is forcing through a bill that hurts literally everyone, including health insurance companies, and doesn’t actually provide much benefit to the billionaires whose taxes it’s supposedly cutting– they don’t really want it either, even they can see that if the economy is destroyed by this, which it will be, it’ll hurt some of them in the long run too, and won’t really help the rest much– but the whole point is to hurt everyone, the whole point is to satisfactorily demonstrate that they can do whatever they want, and I’m astonished anybody’s still bothering to cloak it in any other language at all; I suspect it’s just habit at this point.) 

I was going to post snippets to try to motivate myself but I can see that won’t really help, because nothing matters, so I suppose it’s better I don’t. Focus, B, focus. Or don’t, because it really doesn’t matter. 
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Twin Peaks (2017, David Lynch)

This may well be the funniest moment in David Lynch’s career, I laughed so hard I had to stop to breathe, everyone I saw it with was laughing uproariously as well. It’s great for so many reasons, the self-parody, the genuine surrealism, the voice, everything. These are the moments that make me happy to be alive.
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I care!!!

Awww. Yes but why. There’s just no reason for anybody to care about anything. What’s the point. People keep posting videos of fluffy kittens and shit and what good does that do. That’s my point: there’s no point! 

I mean I guess someone has to feed the fluffy kittens or whatever and if you don’t pet them they get sad so someone’s got to do that, but beyond that, surely, all endeavors are futile, and I can’t be the first person to notice this. 
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I was going to whine some more but there’s no point to that. Instead, here is another Hilarious Work Anecdote. 

Manager, who has 5 kids and whom I sometimes call Superdad, made a little girl cry today.

He was talking with her mother about printing a photograph. It wasn’t the right crop ratio for the size she wanted, and so he said, unthinkingly, “Well, we could move it over a bit, that might look more like you want, but I’d have to cut her arm off,” referring to the small child, who was in the photograph.

The girl, who was about three, began to cry. “Mommy,” she managed to say, “I don’t want him to cut my arm off!” 

As he related the story to me, he concluded, “I will now remember to use the technical term ‘crop’ when I’m talking about photos of young children in front of them.”
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My little astromech copilot has acquired additional tchotchkes over the months. The chicken feather, #farmbaby solemnly awarded to me last time I was there, saying I could use it to remember her by. It amuses me every time I look over at it.
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The year is 1947 and ice cream “is fine to include in a reducing diet for it is high in protective values yet is relatively low in calories.” And don’t worry that ice cream doesn’t have enough calories either because you can always have twice as much, or just add a slice of cake. The important thing is that you remember to eat ice cream every day. 

Wait, no? It’s 2017? Oh, well. 

Happy Ice Cream Month anyway!

National Dairy Council. Time for ice cream. 1947. Landauer collection (unclassified: food). New-York Historical Society.
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Kethel are technically all male, but since (like warriors) they’re sterile, his gender would be “kethel” if that makes sense. He does have a name but it’s buried in my notes somewhere and I don’t have it handy right now. And thank you! He actually became one of my favorite characters. :)



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