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March 9, 2016
This is a first.
In the 44 years that I've been following American politics (yes, seriously--I started when I was EIGHT), I have never been in this position. There was always someone I could see myself supporting. At least in the primaries, anyway. But there is literally no one, this time around. Not one candidate who represents me. Not one candidate who doesn't repel me on some level. Or all levels, in many cases.
I've completely lost any faith, hope, or even interest in what happens, anyway. I don't believe in anything much; except that the world is a profoundly fucked up place and the human race is a virulent, destructive force. If I had to state what I honestly believe, it's this: we are all doomed. So is it any wonder I can't bring myself to even care?
"A man devoid of hope, and conscious of being so, has ceased to belong to the future"--Albert Camus
And the cardboard recycling has taken over my basement, because I can't put it on the curb for pickup unless we get a nice day.
I've been keeping track since May of 2014, and every single trash day, it is either extremely windy, snowy or wet outside. That's 97 trash days in a row.
Lost an old friend yesterday. Somebody I've known for 27 years. Kinda depressing. Her nephew is hosting a memorial open house on Saturday, so I will be going. And I also made the mistake of looking at recent hometown obits yesterday, which was very depressing. Pretty much everyone on the list was a parent or aunt of a contemporary from my youth. And two of them were a brother and sister who died a week apart.
Holy crap. I happened to see how many people are following my little sideline pen blog on tumblr. How on earth did I manage to attract two hundred and five followers?!
The Narc in the adjacent cube is in high gear this week; she was out "sick" nearly the whole week last week, and she must have been nursing her grudges and grievances, because she hasn't shut her flapping gums for two days straight. The only business she's not willing to mind is her own. And since it was my day on the phones, I couldn't even retreat behind my earplugs. Her coarse voice and rude manner combine to form an incessant jackhammer of negativity, and it bores (in more ways than one!) a hole right through my skull.
Once upon a time, there was a person who hated her work life. The person hated it because the people who were currently "managers" had gotten there through the SUSD method (suck up, shit down). And of course, the problem with back-stabbing your way to the middle is that once you are there, A: you need to defend it against other back-stabbers, and B: you need to be able to do the job. So the "managers" viewed anyone with actual management skills, as opposed to just manipulation skills, as a direct threat to their little fiefdoms, and they watched them closely for the first opportunity to take them out.
Forced to hire an actual, trained, experienced analyst, they did so reluctantly, and with extreme prejudice. They then proceeded to make her working life a living hell every day till she quit. Once she was gone, they proceeded to repeat the process until HR gave up and let them run things. So they lived happily ever after--well, all except for the three competent, intelligent women whose lives they messed up, anyway. And the worker who had to sit there and see all of it, and taste the bile.
And then, she got the good news--there was going to be a bonus!
Then she got the "bonus". Which, after taxes and 401K deductions, was came to just under twenty dollars.
Reading: "Experience" (1922), by Catherine Cotton. From the preface: …the story of a woman whose outlook was a happy one; whose mind was never rent by any great temptations, and who, because she was NOT ’misunderstood in early youth,’ never struggled for ’self-expression,’ but only to express herself (in as many words as possible!) to the great amusement and uplifting of her family!
For these reasons this book, like that of the immortal Mr Jorrocks, ’does not aspire to the dignity of a novel,’ but is just a story—an April mixture of sun and shadow—as most lives are; a book to read when you’re tired, perhaps, since it tells of love and a home and garden and such like restful things. And if it makes you smile and sigh at times, well, maybe, that is because life brings to many of us, especially to the women folk, very much the same ’experience.’ I think this author understands the type of reader I am.
Listening: Steely Dan, Warren Zevon, Jackson Brown
Inked Up: Still greatly enjoying the Levenger, plus the Monteverde Artista with Tsutsuji is also getting a workout this week.
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