Well well well, there are civil war re-enactresses.
I’m hoping to write today. Tomorrow I go see the doc about the six weeks of griping abdominal pain and bloating I’ve had. I suspect incipient hernia, either that or I’m dying of something quite unpleasant. I’m wearing my back brace in the meantime and feel somewhat better.
My bedroom floor is still clean! Still have more sorting and tidying and mostly dejunking but the trend is good.
I’d just like to say FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU to the fucking doctors who prescribe meds for BPH to MEN I LOVE without telling them that the side effects are COMPLETE PANCAKING OF LIBIDO, MENTAL DULLNESS AND YOU CAN’T GIVE BLOOD UNTIL SIX MONTHS AFTER YOU STOP TAKING IT.
Honestly. Fuck all y’all.
Stanislav Petrov, the Man Who Saved The World, whom I first wrote about here in April 2005, has passed away. I always toast him if there’s vodka about.
Sean Spicer getting a gig at the Emmys must have been like a punt to the grunt for any BIPoCs there. Fuck whoever decided to hire him, hard, with spiky shit.
I have lots to screech about this morning, but I’m going to write instead.
