…what? what’s happening? HOW is it happening?
Looking at the election results, the polls… everything makes no sense. It makes no sense, people! On any level!
…I think I’m going to have to go to bed and hope that this was all some sort of hallucination.
Sir Terry Pratchett has, as you know, died. The general reaction to this has been one of unalloyed and exceptionless dismay, tempered only by the comfort of knowing how close the nature of his death was to his stated hopes, and by the reassurance of the author’s many wise and uplifting sayings about death over the years. It feels almost rude to grieve too passionately over the death of a man who chose the Latin translation of “Don’t fear the reaper” as his heraldic motto.
So people have taken no doubt some comfort from knowing that Pterry (as his fans have long called him) died well – and, indeed, so far as the public can judge, lived well. But there has still been great distress, or at least a very deep grief, at his passing.
So, finished writing a short story!
What it’s about, I’ve no idea. And I think I already dislike it (which at least saves time).
But I’m pretty sure I’ve come to the end of it… which makes a nice change from my usual ‘start, get bored, wander off’ approach to writing.
*looks at last post, coughs*
My university offers JSTOR access to alumni! FUCK YEAH!
*looks at clock*
So, depths of tearful never-speak-to-anybody-ever-again might-have-thought-about-minor-self-harm-if-it-didn’t-feel-so-narcissistic-and-attention-seeking, to being really kind of jolly, in… slightly under 50 minutes. The glass of mead helped.
Hooray for having the emotional stability of a cobweb trampoline in tornado weather!
[Don’t worry, I’m not bipolar. If I did this on a regular basis I’d get worried, but instead it’s just that I when I get upset by some external trigger (and there are only a couple of them), I can get very upset indeed, but then bounce back weirdly quickly.]
So, back to the singing…
They’re warning us! They’re warning us!
One gas mask between the four of us!
Thanks be to God that three of us can run,
So one of us can use it all alone.
Sometimes I think I understand what it must be like to be depressed.
It’s almost embarrassing how happy I am right now, for no good reason, and without any adequate excuse. It is pouring rain, flooding with rain, and earlier I was outside and soaked through and tired and hungry and cold. And now I am inside, in clean, dry, clothes, and it’s warm, and I’m not hungry anymore, and as a result I am completely happy.
Sometimes life can be extremely straightforward.