The Thursday of the Year

It’s November, and nothing good ever happens in November. Even the dead have come and gone, and the rest of the year sits outside your window like a dull grey shadow, waiting.

November is like the Thursday of the year, the day you can already feel the weekend, but you still have to get through a bit more.

The last months before the year ends always do terrible things to us. They definitely do to me, as they gave me some of the worst depressed weeks I’ve had in a while. It was the kind of depressive that makes you do crazy things like throwing all your cutlery and knives into the sink and all your shopping bags and dish rags on the floor and you have to fight not to break your dishes against the next wall. Why? No idea. But at that moment, the destructive force is all that’s keeping you alive. Needless to say, I had a bad week. And I could get on meds again but I can’t find the strength to go sit in a doctor’s office for five hours just to get a referral. I need all my energy to work and I really want to keep this job. In two months I’m eligible for vacation time. Maybe then.

I’m also thinking of shelving my whole master thesis thing and just getting a second job. I feel like financial security is going to be more important in the future than some fancy degree that’s not good for anything anyway. Also, the future scares me.

The most powerful nation in the world has just elected a man who has a trial for fraud this month, a trial for child sexual abuse next month, and about 50 other ones pending. Has said the worst things to come out of a human’s mouth since, well you know. And somehow this month has proven that you can be a lying, tax evading, racist, sexist asshole with no knowledge of politics or diplomacy, and you can still become president of the USA is you’re only white and rich enough. The turn to the right is almost completed in Europe, too. Science fiction was wrong, totalitarian governments are not our future. In the future, we choose our own destruction freely.

And you might say, if you’re not in the US, why doe sit matter to you? I dunno, why shouldn’t it? I’m on the same planet as those people. And now we here halfway across the globe have an election set for Dec 4, if it happens. And then what? Aye, and then what?

I feel like I’m living in the back story of a SF novel. “This was when it all changed”. Politicians rob you, corporations own you. I feel like I should learn how to hack and move to an underground sort of life, but I can barely get my virus scanner to work. I don’t have any skills for a hard world. I’m not smart enough. I wonder if this is remotely how people felt back in 1933, if anyone had a bad feeling about this. I’m wondering if anyone is seeing a pattern now. Makes you want to say, have fun, I’m out.

If the Canadian immigration website crashed, you know how bad it is. What about the people who didn’t vote for that guy? Why don’t they count for anything?

And it’s not the end of the world. That’s the terrible thing, it’s never the end of the world. It keeps right on keeping on, endlessly marching, and we’re just dragging along with no way out.

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Standing in the kitchen at 1 a.m. like a confused velociraptor looking for food

I wish I would post more often. But then life happens. Why? Did I get a new squeeze? No. Did I get a new job? No. Do I have classes? Actually, no. Did someone die? Actually, yes.

Somehow between trying to get an ounce of sense out of my library books and procrastinating on contacting my supervisor, I’ve managed to paint the walls, write a guide, writing job applications, going to lectures about writing applications and assembling a modern CV, check out the Overwatch Beta, nurse Boyfriend through his nose drop high (I am being entirely serious), and… other things. Like becoming uncharacteristically depressed because I’m 106% sure my mother started drinking again which unearthed a whole host of repressed anxiety about our relationship. So I turned my phone on silent for a few days to get some thesis work done without thinking about the implications that I still feel like my mother’s keeper.

And then her mother died. This week is not looking good.

So my other grandmother died just two months shy of her 95th birthday, which seems to become a trend in this family because other grandma did the same. And they all die suddenly, is this supposed to give me hope or not? Like, the one time I turn off my phone someone dies, is this a sort of super power and if yes, does it only work with immediate family members or…? Because I have a list, so, y’know. But now mom and aunt are depressed because while their mom mistreated them their entire lives her absence still somehow hits them like an eighteen-wheeler. Probably because of all the missed opportunities to actually have a functioning healthy relationship with her. So basically, fantasy.

When all I wanted to do was level my next Diablo III season char. Guess what I’m not going to get around to for a while.

Also, everyone’s going crazy over the presidential elections. Two candidates and they’re both at roughly the same percentage. Best joke I heard all week: 100% of Austrians agree that 50% of Austrians are idiots. What am I doing about it? Well, I voted. What else can I do, sacrifice something to Satan? Or Cthulhu? Who’s more into politics d’you reckon?

Blagh. I’m getting a whiff of the human existential angst that makes you say “Everything was better in the good old days!” Yeah, damn right everything was better twenty years ago when I was a small kid and didn’t have to worry about politics and voting and which old white man gets to lord it over me.

So what am I doing? I’m in the kitchen where 50% of politicians would have me, and I’m eating everything in sight. Because if we go down, we’re going down with a stomach full of dessert. Kinda like my grandmother.

Act V, Scene II: In Which I am Really, Really Depressed and Vent mine Angst and Frustration

This post is not going to be funny because I’m at my lowest mood-wise since a long, long time. I’m having a bad week. Actually, the bad week started back in March. It’s the bad week of the year.

Nothing bad has happened. No one died. Well, no one I know. I’m sure someone died somewhere. Shit, now I feel guilty. Anyway. Nothing bad has happened but I’m miserable as hell.

Somehow I got roped into having a friendly talk with the Blatherer, and I think I got some points across, but who knows how long this will last. And all because no one else will open their damn mouth. Why does the not-people-person always get tasked with the someone-might-shoot-the-messenger quests? In other words, I’m no good with people, usually I just yell and threaten physical violence, so why do I have to go and talk calmly and reasonably to someone I really just want to throw a brick at? Read my lips: I. Am. Not. Friendly. I’m the worst at being nice. I wish I was nicer. I wish I still had it in me. But then people take advantage of my niceness. So I’m rather a really evil bitch. I’m really good at being a really evil bitch. Somehow I can deal better with people not liking me than people liking me for what they can get out of me. I dunno. I could just cry, but my tear ducts haven’t been working right for months now.

I’m good and ready to quit this sodden job thing, but I keep telling myself, two more months. And plenty of uni work to distract myself, what with a thesis, the theoretical base of which will just not shape itself. Okay, so I’m trying something new. I could have gone with an established theory like marxism, throw three novels together and I’d be fine. But I have to go and make life complicated. Also, that workshop thing didn’t work out so well, because even after all these years, speaking in public makes me nervous. Yes, yes, practice makes perfect and all. No! The inner perfectionist will not be satisfied with a less-than stellar performance! That’s the problem with me, I have to be perfect on the first go or I lose all faith in myself. Can I at least blame that one on my mom?

I don’t think I could hate myself more if I suddenly and inexplicably slept with any ex of mine, is what I’m trying to say. I’m at a point where the Camelot song from Holy Grail can’t cheer me up. I would jump off a bridge if it wasn’t so damned cold outside. Few things are worse than having your suicide go wrong in April, you end up having to drag your drenched ass out of an icy river and you come home cold, wet, and even more miserable. So not worth the effort of getting out of bed.

I just don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone for a week or five.

Also, those bitches from my side hustle won’t pay me until May. Christ, I worked for you in early March, gimme! I need a substance abuse problem badly and I can’t afford one if you fuckers won’t pony up my cash!