Silver Linings Playbook
Despite losing my mom and my cat this year, I’m not inclined to wish away 2024.
After all, we have President Musk on his way in. And I’m sure Melania will do to what’s left of Jimmy Carter’s solar panels (that fuckface Ronald Reagan didn’t) what she did to Jackie Kennedy’s Rose Garden.
I’m not quite ready to turn in my beach town tank tops for a burqua.
But speaking of First Lady Elonia, I gotta give him credit for destroying Jack Dorsey’s Twitter, of which I was a member since 2007.
I mean, I got rid of my original account so fuckin Cindy would stop goddamn following me.
Which bit me in the ass this year because I wanted to see my friend Leanne’s account but I can’t access it.
Why? Because when she died, she had a private account — and only my original account could have seen it.
I am really sad because her final tweet was perfection. But naturally Cindy had to ruin me getting a screenshot of it too.
As if I didn’t have enough reasons to rue Rosemary’s Baby’s birth, god.
In any event, speaking of the devil (though I’ve mentioned a few so far), I am quite glad that not only have I fully defected from Xitter, save for one account where I save all my screenshots of the nuttiest nut who ever nutted …
But I am not even tempted to read her play-by-play commentary on my life because I couldn’t find it if I tried.
I mean, I probably could find it if I tried. I am a Very Good Researcher(TM) and all.
I am just not trying because I lost enough brain cells doing that already, and for what?
At least that shitshow (for me) stopped running in 2024. Something positive about this year.
Another weird positive revolves around Howler Monkey.
That one must watch everything I do online too.
I tried to slip one of my staff an issue at the last possible minute on Friday.
Well, that joy was watching and immediately tracked an edit.
I got the email that she was in my file and I was like GAH, WHAT.
Another of my staff had said maybe this ball of joy is my lesson. That her existence is meant to teach me something.
After all my staff got the same email that this cherub was in my document (that I had tagged THEM in, not her), one of my people called me.
Person (I like) said you know what, did it ever occur to you that this one knows you’re special … and they hitch to your wagon?
I said I am willing to entertain that.
What I did not say is either cherub is just so enthralled by me that she wants to share my light of greatness. Or that by changing a comma (or whatever — I didn’t look), they can say they helped me shine?
What I also didn’t say is how come there is a typo in the live version of everything this one “edits”? Jesus FUCK I am tired of this shit.
I don’t know. I don’t really think too hard on it. I can’t. Otherwise I’d go back to feeling wounded after they sliced me down to size.
Maybe my friend here has a point. I am amazing. Maybe they do recognize the goddess before them.
Maybe my confidence and dearth of fucks drives them nuts. Or maybe they are inspired by it and want to get as close to this awesomeness as they can.
Like that other ghoul.
Really, what is the purpose of stalking me around the internet if not to watch me shine?
If only Teams would die like Twitter, then I could somewhat look forward to the incoming year.
At least 2024 had my mom and my baby in it. The new one has no such redeeming qualities.