Jesus, I just wrote a long post about poverty that turned into an expose of my mother's family. It devolved into an indignant rant in the end, lacking both sympathy and reason. Somehow I managed to weave in Trump's defense team's performance in the Senate and the total lack of critical thinking required of anyone once they get out of school which only two of my mother's family ever have. It turned into an indictment of the dumbing down of the American mind. And I blamed republicans most, though I challenged the knowledge that went into Biden's $2,000 give away. Oh, yea. . . it was a mess.
A deleted mess.
There is too much on my clouded mind this morning, and last night I took a little early V-Day gift that fucked me up and kept me in bed until almost eight. The morning is warm and wet and uninspiring. My mind is a piece of spongy moss.
The faeries were everywhere last night. They scared and enchanted me, so I stayed out with them as long as I could with my magic elixir. It contributes to today's muddle as well, I think.
Talking to faeries can be dangerous. Of course. Talking to luminescent fungi may be worse. I read somewhere that they might be edible, but I'm not ready to take that chance.
I have a mess of trouble that I am not reporting here right now, and I am quite paralyzed by it all. I am trying to deal, but daily I am breaking down a bit more. I feel like a man holding onto a ledge. How long can the fingers last? It is a life, you say, but it is not one to be envied or desired. My feet search for a foothold. If only I can find a foothold, I think, I'd have a chance. But now, it is all fingers and fear.
It is hard to think that God doesn't hate me. It is not so hard in guessing why.
Jesus, I just went on another rant that got deleted. I can seem to make no progress with this post today. And now, midmorning, there is thunder and darkness. I think I should have stuck with the faeries. The picture was supposed to go with the long post I deleted. No matter. It is pretty good. It can stick.
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