(much in little)
Wordle got bought by the NY Times, so I’m not doing it anymore.
Still no letter for Auntie Mary. She’s owed one since October but I’m a bum.
Still processing the four of us getting together on Sunday. It was a lot of feels and it felt almost like group therapy, or more accurately, like the group meditations that we used to do through Beacon. I feel seen, and I listened with intent. I’ve said many times how amazing Jarmo is (he just is, okay, trust me) but Susanna is absolutely amazing and so kind, given her trials.
Thandiwe Newton reported as referring to Sean Penn as a jibbering fool made my morning (he was decrying the ‘feminization of men’ poor sod). Sean Penn being a freehold scumbag is pretty much a given but her shade was a touch of perfection.
Rehearsed a tiny bit yesterday. Music has pretty much died inside me. I’m listening to music on line, but there’s no music inside me, and I read incoming emails about on line filking with no emotion at all and just delete them.
Pandemic brain is real. Jeff and I went out for food pickup yesterday and WE HAVE NEVER SEEN IN 35 MINUTES OF DRIVING SUCH AN ASSORTMENT OF CLUELESS AND ACTIVELY FUCKED UP DRIVERS. Broad flipping daylight, zero problems with traction and visibility, and drivers were all the words you use when you don’t want to say they’re mentally ill, chemically altered or just dgaf.
Above noted is a song by the Greek band Villagers of Ioannina City, a shoegaze/indie/folk band. The lyrics are a dreamy love song to ‘my partridge eyed one’.