The saga of MC’s duty status continues. Now instead of having thirty days to GTFO, he/we have ninety. His date of “separation” falls directly on my birthday. I’m positive I’m assigning this more meaning than there actually is on this specific date being chosen by THEM, yet I can’t help but feel that the Gods are hazing me.
Ninety is better than thirty, no doubt about it, but the first thing I said when MC discussed this with me was, “we need more time.”
I’m nose-deep in a huge struggle while processing what this means for me in the short term, and of course in the long term. If moving doesn’t kill me, certainly a lapse in medical care during the transition will. We don’t know where we’re going or what will happen once we get there. All I know is that I have an ever growing figurative and literal pile of shit to sort through and take care of.
If I’ve resigned myself to knowing I have X-number of days to live, I imagine what I should really be doing is picking out a nice cemetary plot or a remote place near a giant, creepy tree to have my corpus planted. Knowing that my physical body will be allowed to decompose in a nice, quiet place will undoubtedly lift my spirits. Death does indeed seem to be the most positive potential outcome and that’s just sad. I don’t feel sad, though. I don’t feel much of anything, besides fucked. Fucked every which way.
Reading is the appropriate response to the situation. The book fort on my bed is being reinforced and the ghost of Terry Pratchett has confirmed that it is possible to write a wildly popular book series while (presumably) on LSD.
From the back cover…
Imagine, if you will…
A flat world sitting on the backs of four elephants who hurtle through space balanced on a giant turtle. In truth, the Discworld is not so different from our own. Yet, at the same time, very different…but not so much.
In this, the maiden voyage through Terry Pratchett’s divinely and recognizably twisted alternate dimension, the well-meaning but remarkably inept wizard Rincewind encounters something hitherto unknown in the Discworld: a tourist! Twoflower has arrived, Luggage by his side, to take in the sights and, unfortunately, has cast his lot with a most inappropriate tour guide – a decision that could result in Twoflower’s becoming not only Discworld’s first visitor from elsewhere…but quite possibly, portentously, its very last. And, of course, he’s brought Luggage along, which has a mind of its own. And teeth.
Terry Pratchett was a mad genius. I love Discworld. People who say it’s juvenile or difficult to follow are obviously stuck in the wrong side of their brains. The creative ridiculousness and randomness down to the very last tiny detail are what make it so much fun to read. And thankfully, the series has accrued more than 40 books, so that should keep me occupied until my expiration date.