‘I saw Drum Eatenton at the Piggly Wiggly, and I SMILED at the son of a bitch’
Welp. It’s Paddy’s Day and Governor Tiny Trump has ordered all bars and nightclubs to close at 5 p.m. And stay that way for 30 days.
FORGET YOUR STRONG FRIENDS. CHECK ON YOUR IRISH FRIENDS. WE ARE NOT OK.
You can fake being Irish. But not a goddess
Restaurants are pretty much all-takeout at this point. The rest have a cap at 50% capacity. I’m getting emails from all the fuck over the place that tables are now six feet apart and servers are finally being tested for the plague.
You know, shit we could have done IN JANUARY.
And it’s Florida primary day. I could not give a fuck at this point. Go, Bernden.
In any event, I ordered our traditional corned beef and cabbage special from the local Irish pub.
I’d rather drive out to one of their nicer locations. But girlfriend’s got a new job and she’s busy AF so we’re adjusting.
It’s literally the only food we have in the house, so at least I got it.
On the way out of the Rock of Fraggles, I saw the son of a bitch I cursed TF out for kicking my duckies. Multiple times.
He actually looked at me, thought about it, smiled and sort of waved.
I was glaring at him because that’s what I do. But then I wiped off my expression, nodded and drove out of the Rock.
Spirit told me he’s had a heart attack since you last saw him. Don’t be a dick.
He looks different. Not the combative septuagenarian who basically invited me to go fuck myself one year ago.
I didn’t smile at the son of a bitch. I sort of wish I had. Heart attack and all. Hell, it’s more proving that he actually has a heart in there that stirred my little black heart.
I wasn’t really scared of coronavirus till today. Seriously, you took my bars away, Governor Tiny Trump. And wouldn’t it be my fucking luck to be killed (even indirectly) by the tRump administration.
I’m tired of being tired, is what I am.
Tired of people making decisions for me who have no business making decisions for anyone. (Government.)
Tired of having to choose between SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19 at the ballot box.
Tired of people who harm animals.
Tired of people who bail out airlines and oil companies and not the people who can’t even afford toilet paper … not that there’s any left because everyone who is privileged enough to get a SARS-CoV-2 test got their 20 cases of Charmin before the rest of us even heard of the fucking virus.
Tired of people who take me for granted or think they’re God’s gift and think it is their right and privilege to use my hair to wipe their ass. (*cough* but not a *coronavirus cough*)
Tired from learning a new job and a new team and volunteering for All the Projects so they know how goddamn amazing I am at a time when my portfolio/slush fund is in the collective shitter and I don’t have my long, established track record to keep me safe from 2008-style layoffs.
I know it will all turn out goddamn amazing. It has to. I expect it to. I will fucking MAKE it that way.
It’s just hard when the healers, the optimists, the empaths, the go-to people start to run out of hope.
After everyone and everything has bled us of every ounce of metaphorical sanitizer and there’s none on the shelves.
And not even Amazon can find you a bottle for $125 OR a person to deliver it to you.
Welp. Enough of this pity party shit. Let everyone else lie unshowered in bed and to themselves or whatever it is they have to do to get through a day.
I DON’T GET TO BREAK. I don’t even want to. I am grateful for high expectations.
I got three jobs to work, 12 kitties to feed, a momma at high risk for this shit to protect, and a house to clean.
And when I finally get to bed tonight, my soul will be nourished by achieving all that.
I pulled the Strength card today. Rescue comes from within.
My friend used to remind me to put on my oxygen mask before helping All the Others. I guess the modern-day twist is to put on my surgical mask first.
And then, I can breathe.
Finally.