Stand your ground in a fort built of books

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.

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 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.

 

Three degrees to Jason Momoa

I ordered a new pair of headphones.  The ones I’ve been using are what came packaged with a Samsung Galaxy 5.  They’re not terrible for freebies but they are looking a little biohazardous.  They’ve only been in the hospital with me for about six weeks.  Wait a minute, I need to go back and count.  January 23-today?  Yikes.  That is about six weeks.  Aaanyhow, the problem with ordering the headphones is that they were shipped to the house which meant that MC would have to drag himself away from eBay long enough to come see me.  Heaven forbid.

I haven’t seen him in over a week, so this was a good reason to get him to visit me.  I’m well aware of how sad it is that he needs a reason.  After a couple of hours of various text complaints from him about how tired he was (likely hoping I’d tell him “nevermind, stay home”), he finally put some damn pants on and headed in my direction.

When he got here he was in a terrible mood.  I attempted to talk to him about his week because I hadn’t heard much from him, but everything I said seemed to annoy him.  I apologized for making him drive all the way up when it’s clear he didn’t want to be here.  I suggested he take his cranky ass home and come back when he’s feeling less hateful.

Away he went.

I don’t understand him.  I’m not quite sure what I’ve done to piss him off, or if this is his way of dealing with a difficult situation.  If he keeps this up, I’m going to have to surgically remove his head from his ass.  It could be dangerous, as I’m not at all qualified, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

Thanks to him, I almost decided to swear off men.  Then I’m reminded of Stargate Atlantis.  A stupid fucking show until I hit season 2 when I was introduced to Ronon Dex (Jason Momoa).  He was pre-tty delicious as Khal Drogo in Game of Thrones too.  The dude is 100% animal.  Must.  Have.  I concluded I can’t swear off all men because I’d leave an opening for him.  Who cares if we’re both married.  This is fantasy.

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 Holy bearded mountain!  I’m not completely asexual.

 I had no idea this post would lead to ogling and drooling.  Fuck it.  

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Spacing out

5ab00c70d44b174d597a02b7f17620a8I spent last night in deep space. ¬†After centuries of poisoning our planet, the Earth had turned all food crops and wild food sources to poison. ¬†Most water sources were also too toxic to drink. ¬†The fever to get rid of the virus. ¬†After a mass starvation die-off of humanity, those of us who were left were given a fighting chance of survival on a ‘floating planet’ somewhere outside of the Milky Way as mankind continued its tireless search for another planet to inhabit and destroy. ¬†There was only so much room on the transport ship but rather than offering up space with a lottery system, it was a race to the finish line. ¬†I suppose the idea was only those who were fit or had a certain level of ingenue would make it to the transport ship in time. ¬†Survival of the fittest.

space-station-being-envisaged-for-into-the-comet-sinhala-science-fiction-feature-film-by-thilanka-perera¬†I made it through the gauntlet and before I knew it (Scooby doo fade out-fade in), I was in newcomer holding on the space station. ¬†I had been separated from my people and I spent the rest of the night wondering how all of us fucked up people made the cut. ¬†Me with my ism’s, MC with his exploding heart, Mom with her aneurysm, Dad with his…attitude. ¬†It didn’t make any sense.

A disgruntled resident took it upon himself to blow up a major airlock and depressurize one of three zones in its entirety (think of them as space station towns, each completely self-sustainable).  I think it was Jack Nicholson.  Creepy motherfucker.  This is why a mass exodus is a bad idea without thoroughly screening those who would be given a ticket to live out their lives with the hope of finding a new permanent home.  Nevermind the ethics of it, this is survival.

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My suggestion to the engineers of fate: don’t allow us virulent humans to outsmart you. ¬†We probably deserve to go extinct.

/I’d rather be stuck floating in space than stuck floating in Harpyville. ¬†At least the dreams are fun.

All images yoinked from google search