1488

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So where were you? they will ask. Why didn’t you do anything to stop this?

The only answer we’ll have is that we were all too busy complaining our mommies didn’t love us enough, or our bank account wasn’t big enough, or our partners didn’t satisfy us. Excuses, all of them.

Look around.

It’s almost Summer Solstice, the time when heathens and hippies get out and dance around stones in a field ’til dawn. This year, though, they’ll be doing it with long underwear on. Despite that my calendar wants to tell me it’s summer and shows me pictures of flowers and bees, it’s damned cold outside. Today won’t breach 15C (60F). And today is not an isolated incident. The weather here has been struggling to feel like summer.

Hollywood keeps making disaster films and people keep watching. It’s easy in a film like The Day After Tomorrow to see world collapse happen; the time line gets shrunk down to 90 minutes – bypassing all that boring, ho-hum stuff that happens in the meantime. It’s not so easy to see it in real time. Especially when there are many people out there that stick their heads in the sand and pretend that global warming has nothing to do with them. Or that it doesn’t even exist.

Let’s put the argument that humanity is to blame aside. The ice caps are melting at an alarming rate. The glaciers are receding. Maybe this is a natural warm-up after the last ice age; that theory HAS been put forth. But can we all agree that the planet IS warming up? That temperatures around the world are, on average, increasing by several degrees? I mean, we’re not going to argue that the whole polar ice cap melting thing is something cooked up in a studio somewhere, right? You’re not going to say you think it was all faked like the moon landing, are you?

I think if you’re at that level of denial the men in white coats should pay you a visit.

And now I read of a new product in the US. It’s a surgical implant to pump food out of your stomach after you’ve eaten so you lose weight. Yes. A permanent tube is inserted into your stomach. Then, after eating your fill, you take your little porta-pump, head into the bathroom, and pump that food you just ate out of your stomach. Viola! A 20% reduction in calories consumed.

If you can bypass the disgust over having a surgical implant that leads directly into your stomach (which I can’t), can you please tell me how anyone would choose to get this done? Really? You can’t stop yourself from eating so you’ll pump the food out of your stomach after consuming it?

Isn’t this a case of absolute refusal to take any responsibility for yourself? I can’t stop myself from eating, food just tastes too good, so I’ll eat all I want and then PUMP IT OUT OF MY STOMACH.

You people make me want to vomit.

And one more thing. While I always find it a tragedy when people die, could someone tell me WHY the death of a celebrity is always so much more important than any other death? Why are people online commiserating the death of a young actor in Star Trek? Sure it’s a tragedy. It’s a tragedy that so many people die EVERY GODDAMN MINUTE BUT WE DON’T GIVE THEM ONE FUCKING INSTANT. We should. If the news is gonna tell me about the death of a celebrity, it should also list out every other death that happened because let me tell YOU something – someone’s mom died, someone’s kid died, someone’s love of their LIFE died in the time it took me to write this paragraph and ANY of those roles are more important than a mere actor. So don’t give that ‘oh, I’m so gutted’ bullshit. If you were really gutted over the death of other people YOU’D FEEL BAD ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

Fucking hypocrites.

There is so much about humanity that I HATE. The ignorance, the violence, the lying and cheating and war. We are a small species, focused on small matters.

DAMN it!!!

As for me and my small matters…

There’s a non-stop litany of Dutch verb conjugations running thru my head. I’m up early this morning to get over to the doc’s for my test results – something I wimped out on Friday. The upcoming changes to my small life are still hanging over my head like an axe waiting to fall. While I find this change uncomfortable to deal with, it’s the accompanying morbidity that’s really bugging me. Part of me wants that axe to fall and chop my head off. I keep finding myself making speeches like I’m on my deathbed, and frankly, it’s frightening me.

I am NOT gonna will my death into reality right now. No, no, no. However much part of me wants to stop with this continuous struggle, I’m not done here.

Though I must admit I can’t figure out WHY I’m not done here. That’s a real head scratcher. But as with most things in life, I’m guessing it’ll take time and distance from whatever it is before I can understand it. I’m kinda slow that way.

Been falling back on all those things people tell you to do when you’re feeling depression come on. Walking. Getting dressed. Tidying up. Going out. These crappy feelings that keep sneaking up on me in different guises are coming more and more rapidly. I keep telling myself it’s just summer (though it doesn’t feel like it), and I’ll feel better in a few short months.

Okay…my head protests at the use of ‘a few short months’. Right now, the preferred way of referring to it is in weeks or days or hours. ‘Cause that’s what it comes down to for me: a day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute slog. Not ‘a few short months’ that can be taken in and breathed out in one small gasp.

1488 hours to go.

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