How fast can I write? I have a 20-minute window of opportunity. If only my typing were not so crappy. Oh well.

On the surface, another shitty day. The president calling the press the enemy of the people. So far, 5 journalists are shot dead at their workplace. It's wet and raining. I can't find my swim fins for the trip I'm taking today to another island. My pits are sweating and yet my feet are damp cold. Even my body is miserable and confused.

Yes, I see the absurdity of discussing fucking murder in the same paragraph as my cold feet. And yet, this is where I am right now. I feel powerless to stop the crazies with guns. I don't pray per se but goddammit I am banking a lot of my hope reserves on Robert Mueller.

It's really useful to see the final days of GOP hypocrisy. I am one of those pollyanna who always give people the benefit of the doubt waaaay past the time they might deserve it.

This includes my partner.

That could be comedy, in the right tone of voice.

But sadly, it just ads to the puddle of self-pity and malcontent in which I am sitting at this current moment.

I think it's acceptable to be this irrational. Murder and cold feet irrational. Life is not this fucking orderly place solidly built on an objective foundation of good and bad, right and wrong.

That is merely a framework, a construct, that a lot of people buy into, over and over again.

In fact, everything here is subjective and personal and subject to one's history and experience. You have receptors open to receiving murder calls or you don't. You are wired for some sort of sense of fairness, or largely not Of course, this can and does change on a case by case basis.

Things can get pretty binary if you zoom into tight enough, and allow each moment of time to have its own vote.

It's when we zoom out and out and out and cling to the pretend security of binary thinking.

Safety is an inside job. It's enhanced by paying attention. It's enhanced even more, ten times more, by being really radical about not holding anyone else responsible for your situation. The amount of compromise and ignoring and codepending is huge. We don't let it weigh in, often enough, in my opinion. We blame blame blame others as a way to not feel my own existential confusion and pain.

In the moment, I make a decision, based on the available information.

Later, from a different vantage point, being in a different mood, or whatever, it can look like a bad tradeoff or a brilliant choice. There's no way around it. Things are not fixed in time, they actually change over time. Something that feels so ungodly awful can and often does create silver linings.

NONE OF THIS FUCKING MATTERS. I write it, I believe it, even if I don't especially feel it. That's OK, too. This is Mind over Matter, time, mother fuckers!

You can tell how I am outta fucks to give today. I rarely swear in public. I am happy to swear in private. Life goes on. Fuck the fucking mother fuckers who like torturing others.

I can't even get that sentence typed, though, and I realize each of us can be a torturer in different ways. Very easily in emotional and intellectual ways, if not the physical ways. Easier still if the definition of the word is expanded and not taken so literally specific in the way it was done at Abu Ghraib.

I know, it's not as if there isn't enough self-loathing in the world then you (meaning, me) go and write all this downer shit.

Well, at least I don't think you have to change anything because I don't buy the earn or learn your way back to god nonsense.

You are the divine, I am the divine, all the murderers and the republicans are the divine too. Innate rights. Across the board, even if they don't want to honor them in courts of law.

I will honor them. And I will raise them one, all Westworld-ish, and say each human here can do as she pleases and manage the consequences. The rules of these games have been changing right before our eyes for decades. It had to get this "bad" before many awards it, or felt it, or wanted to do something about changing it.

Or not. Because none of this matters, way out at the end of the day when everyone is dead. Back to the dream.