midterminal

in

Election Day – or as I like to call it, “The Day I Stop Seeing How Fucking Insane the Vast Majority of the Neighborhood Really Is (except for the house that’s had an idyllic "Welcome to our home!" sign with a heart around it on their porch paired with "Tumor/Pestilence 2020 FUCK YOUR FEELINGS" hanging in their opened garage for the last five years and the innumerable odes to Brandon, homemade or otherwise, that populate the landscape)” – has arrived and I make no predictions other than there will be some surprises and that the outcome will probably be worse than I hope (probably) but better than I fear (maybe) – though FWIW, there's more enthusiastic sane yard signage around here than insane (much more than I remember in past years; not dissimilar to Obama 2012 and far different than 2020 and 16) – though yard signage means fuckall on a ballot – and I do know of several Republicans out here that won't vote for Vance (and my father-in-law, a (Tumor)-publican, is voting for Nan Whaley for governor) hence the hope; the one house which had a ton of signage and "HONK FOR (TUMOR)" leading up the end of his driveway in 2020 has none – zilch, zero, nada; and Tim Ryan has run one hell of a campaign (against one of the worst candidates I've ever seen – and that's saying something in Ohio – especially as a democrat (small d - I'm a registered independent but vote for sanity every time)) – but that only matters if he wins.

(I mean, jesusfuckingchrist, Ohio.)

i did not spontaneously combust and other misadventures in sacerdotal flamethrowing

in

Candle lit / in memory of / all saints and sinners whatever and ever amen: all without setting anything including myself on fire by wielding a candle. Victory – though I'm still paying for the pretzel I was able to eat at lunch because the rambling, loquacious minister couldn't edit anything (having never learned anything in the decade he's been at this dying church which begs the obvious question of his hand in its torturous demise) and made a sermon that should have lasted 15 minutes tops last more than an hour and a half. Highlight: his video camera died before he was done and he had no clue. Regardless, good deed for the month complete. Exorcism addendum, complete(?)

ENOLA HOLMES 2 is excellent: think I liked it even more than the first one. Reminds me of the Brendan Fraser MUMMY with something important to say. Marvelous weekend entertainment.

Other thing: my favorite character in all of ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD is the turnip(?) with the maracas. One of life's great desires to have been in the room when that bit of (fucked up) brilliance was created.

newsletter sunday 0090

in

Early post this morning as I have to spend the second chunk of my morning being a good human and lighting a candle for someone I spent a quarter century and 96 pages exorcising but hey, Macro0090 is in the wild and I've slept an extra hour so I guess I'm prepared to partake in the ceremonial bloviations which hold no solace or comfort for me whatsoever and absorb and deflect the Im so sorrys and such a wonderful and blah blah blahs and the close proximities and hugs and my late fucking lunch which will REALLY make things bearable because truly, it's the living (and their attendant rituals) that make death un–.

(again) upon a midnight hypo

in

Zombification remains: a midnight hypo alert (whether or not it was truly a hypo is unknown – I didn't feel the usual sweats and immobility simply a profound sense of annoyance and lamentation). Didn't help that I was then awakened by the time alarm in the middle of a dream about my former employ AKA the last time anyone thought I was worth employing. Stupor continues, throughin and throughout.

As per my usual biweekly formula, all consternation WRT the seemingly empty newsletter was for naught. Will be good to go for tomorrow.