So I'm unemployed. Again. I suppose it doesn't really matter that much and all the people I worked with are convinced that I'm going to be re-hired in the fall and that I'll see all of them again. I also suppose that vibes of such good caliber are encouraging. But then you go home and have to deal with yourself in the interminable interim (wherein your life is a fucking shambles found in the nether regions of a "hoarder's" storage shed) and look in the fucking mirror and see that face floating there and all those awful questions arise like so much hot and stinging bile in your rapidly closing throat and you just have to try to take it and internalize it and NOT drink a shit-ton of wine and get into an argument with your wife about the transcendent love of Christ and the Church's teachings and patriarchy and the myriad apparatus of thinking and the novelty of "better" methods of dissecting/correcting the abuses of the human mind.
Might have failed a bit on that last one.
And I suppose all that's okay too, but fuck if it all isn't a thing that requires constant attention and effort to not find yourself flying down the suburban roads you inhabit and picking out the telephone pole into which you will pilot your vehicle, unseatbelted and at a very rapid speed, when you finally get sick of all of it.
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