In which I still ain’t right

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If you ever needed proof that I make foolish decisions: I decided to release a book during what I think may literally have been the stupidest and most rage-inducing week of my entire life.  I mean, there was probably a week during the Bush administration that at least came close somewhere.  Hell, there was probably more than one.  But right now hell if I can remember when that week might have been, and perhaps more importantly I didn’t have a wife and kid near me to remind me of my need to keep my shit together, and it has been fucking hard to come home from work each night and force myself into editing and creating mode instead of staring dully at Twitter and thinking thoughts that I ought not to be thinking.

I have never hated Republicans more than I do this week.  I have never been more exhausted and sick of white men than I have been this week.  I have never been more embarrassed by men in general than I have this week.

I cannot imagine how any of my women friends feel, and I can’t believe my wife is even still standing after all this shit.  The rage has nearly incapacitated me and I haven’t been putting up with entitled assholes like Brett Kavanaugh my entire life, like virtually every woman I know has.

Oh, and today at work involved transcribing a bunch of witness statements and having to find a way to get a four and a half minute, 500mb video of a kid in one of the scariest meltdowns I’ve ever seen in a school off of an ancient Android phone with a broken screen and to the cops.  I will say this: I have never been shy about criticizing cops when I feel like they’re doing a shitty job.  Our SRO took what could have been (what already was) a very, very bad situation today and, while it did ultimately lead to the student being taken out of the building in handcuffs (and still fighting the cops the whole way) it could have been much, much worse with a different police officer.  He was an absolute model of using minimum force required and attempting de-escalation the entire time (and it was the police officer who asked our security guard to start recording the incident) and the decision wasn’t finally made to take the student to the police station until the parent of the student, who, it should be pointed out, started the shit in the first place, refused to come and collect their child and actually told the SRO to take the student to jail.

Which … Okay.  But then I’mma come get you, and you’re going to jail too, you fucking asshole.  Ain’t no goddamn universe in existence where somebody calls me and says they need me to come get my baby and the words “Just take him to jail” come out of my mouth.

It’s been a very, very, very fucking rough week.

But I’m going to get this book done, and it’s going to be available this weekend, so go check me out on Patreon so you can have it once it’s ready.

#WeekendCoffeeShare: COB edition

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If we were having coffee, I’d

SHUT UP AND GIVE ME COFFEE

We’d probably end up

SUGAR DAMMIT SUGAR TOO

And eventually the subject would probably turn to

MOAR GODDAMMIT JUST INJECT THE SHIT INTO MY VEINS FUCK A SYRINGE GET ME A BIC PEN AND A KNIFE

I mean, it’s neat that we

MILK WHAT THE FUCK IS MILK COFFEE IS BLACK I ONLY DRINK BLACK COFFEE NOW

And maybe it would be neat if we would

BLACK LIKE THE BONES OF THE EARTH I WANT THIS COFFEE TO CRAWL OUT OF THE CUP AND SLAP ME

And it’s really nice to see that you’re

I HAD BETTER BE ABLE TO SEE THROUGH TIME WHEN I’M DONE WITH THIS SHIT

I’m happy to announce that

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Let’s do this again next week; it was

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In which I’m in the hospital again

TotalHipReplacement_-_Before__AfterDo not panic!  It’s not for me this time!  Honestly, though, I’d rather it was, as my last couple of ER visits were for not especially big deals as hospital visits go.  My mother is having her hip replaced, converting her even further to a cybernetic organism, because she already has a replacement knee, artificial corneas, and I think maybe something in her lower back as well.  I have to admit; if it weren’t for the years of pain that led to each of the surgeries, I’d almost be jealous.  I wanna be a robot too!

Then again, all I really have to do is wait.  I have indisputably inherited my mother’s knees; I stood up yesterday from my recliner and the crumpling-paper noise from both of my knees was so loud that my wife heard it.  It didn’t really hurt, precisely, but the holy shit what was that reaction was so horrifying I almost wish it was pain.

What will be painful: they’ve got CNN on in this damn waiting room, and they keep going back to that poor kid getting her ass beat by that cop in South Carolina the other day.  Having to watch/hear the footage is rage-inducing enough; I swear to God if I have to listen to some fucking Hoosier conversation about it I’m gonna go to jail today, and it’s good that we’re already at the hospital.

Mom’s gonna be fine, by the way, but good vibes are appreciated anyway.  More later.

EDIT:  She’s out of surgery already, which is ridiculous.  The doc said she had a lot of arthritis in that hip but everything went fine.  She’s in recovery now and we’ll get to see her in a couple of hours.  There’s still the standard post-surgical suite of potential complications to worry about but the surgery itself went as well as it possibly could have.

On anger and hatred

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I didn’t post yesterday because I was exhausted; I didn’t get home from OtherJob on Friday until after midnight.  I didn’t get home from OtherJob until after midnight last night either; it turns out that when we finally get a few days of no-bullshit perfect weather people remember that it’s fun to go outside and do things, and so they do.  I’m still exhausted, and my back hurts.  Today will not be terribly productive.

I got home to three pieces of bad news, only one of which I’m remotely interested in discussing, and honestly I’m not even going to do that.

Because right now I feel like the first black person– no, the first person– to catch George Zimmerman outdoors and alone after dark should shoot him in the face immediately.

And I cannot trust myself to write when I’m in this state.  It’s been almost twelve hours; I’m still here.

Seven or eight years ago, I would have.  Seven or eight years ago I was a much angrier person; ironically, I may have lived in a better world then than I do now.  Little has gotten better.  But I don’t want to write this post, and I don’t trust myself to write this post, so for now, I’m not going to.  If that changes, I might.

But probably not.