Last week was entirely too social, and the time I planned for solitary retrenchment was taken up with necessary adjuncts to other people’s social calendars. Consequently I am, shall we say, a tad grumpy.
Of course we didn’t see a lot of strangers during lockdown, but with the Prince’s last year of high school being “distance learning” and the economy the way it is, I haven’t been alone in the house (save a few hours once when vaccination was done and the Delta variant as yet unborn) for a significant period and even shutting my office door isn’t granting me enough distance. It’s not anyone’s fault and of course we all bear with the situation as best we can.
I’m beginning to be seriously peeved with death-worshipping “conservatives” who are bound and determined to not only kill as many people as possible but also deliberately make this virus–which we could have controlled by now if not for the misinformation from the likes of Rupert Murdoch’s pet monkeys–worse than it already is. The approaching nightmare is made even more intense by the fact that it was completely avoidable, but some selfish mofos wanted it and are inflicting it on the rest of us.
I know coffee and a run will help. I know some of this is the accumulated weight of the last few years, between pandemic and attempted fascist coup(s)–neither of them things human beings should have to suffer, but here we are. I know I should be a better person, a kinder person, a more patient person.
Yet I am snarling, and on my Very Last Nerve. I have lost patience with the smirking, self-satisfied bullshit of “conservatives”, I have lost patience with the bigots, and I have definitely lost patience with the enablers of the above. I’m at the point where I just want to shake people and hiss, “What the fuck is wrong with you, you know better, cut it out!”
My patience is wide and deep (apparently, which surprises me as much as anyone else) but it is not infinite. Nor, I think, should it be. I’m just wondering what it will take before humanity as a whole stops listening to selfish hatemongers.
I suppose the werewolf story (not the Tolkien Viking Werewolves, which still remains unsold but I have high hopes for) I’ve been poking at in place of other work deserves to be seen as a bright spot, but due to its nature it’s not publishable and I feel guilty for spending time on something which won’t pay the bills. That feeling is toxic as all get-out and breeds resentment, but I can’t help it.
Maybe it’s just a case of Monday. At any rate, finishing coffee and getting out the door to walk the dogs–fractious little beasts for the past few days, probably because of my own mood–is the best course of action. If I’m moving I’m not brooding.
Or at least, that’s the plan. There’s still half of said coffee to get down, but my stomach is such a knot I doubt I’ll get there in a reasonable time. I may have to leave it unfinished and walk the dogs, a sign that the end is indeed nigh.
I hope your Monday is less cranky, beloveds. But if you’re on the ragged edge too, maybe there’s some consolation in not being the only one. Heaven knows we should find what comfort we can in this benighted mess.
And now, it’s off for walkies. Hopefully, things will get better soon.