On Nov. 8, we went down the rabbit hole in a big way. I mean, whatever species takes over as the dominant one on this planet, they’re going to be like, “2016, man, we don’t talk about 2016” or they’ll teach it to their kids like we taught the Holocaust.
I have a lot of thoughts and, you know, I’ve been diagnosed with depression since 1989 or so, so some of them are paranoid, demented, fucking grim, or really inappropriate.
I try to mitigate this by keeping good people around me. And smart people. And motivated people.
But I need to make some boundaries about this. Facebook has become an unpredictable emotional miasma in the aftermath of the General Election. I still have a livejournal, but the Russians bought them. My attempt at action has been a few thirty-second phone calls a few $5 donations — which will surely net me more emails requesting donations and support than my meager attempts are worth.
There are so many things, and I need to write down how it was before I forget. Because I keep gaslighting myself that nothing has changed. I still have my job and my crappy car and almost 100% of my friends and my wrongheaded family and my too-expensive apartment. The same ornery, traumatized cat won’t let me pet her even tho I feed her and clean her box. But the world I have known is changing forever, maybe even disappearing.
I need a place to save things, not lose them.