chicating

I found something I'd started to write as a gift for a friend and mislaid a few operating systems ago. It's fine, now christened "Such a Great Body" and presented to Karl, who is the finest, most loyal audience an ink-stained wretch could ever wish for. But if this were a movie, I'd have been secretly hiding a Game Changer in my sent mail instead of a bit of froth that was Jossed by current events that are no longer that current, or events. Still, I well and truly finished one, even if nobody's fighting each other to get a look at it.(And I guess I got a little better as a writer than in 2007.)

For about a third of the year, it seemed like my body dreamed up new ways of making me insane, although thankfully none of them truly blossomed into a Full-on Health Crisis(And that did eventually stop, though not fast enough to suit me. ) None of my sparrow-hops into Public have gotten me a virus, knock wood.I've been writing about the pandemic a lot. I think some of it is kind of good, but I can't judge my own work anymore.

My dentist is gonna lose his mind if he doesn't get to replace my last bit of amalgam this year, but I am beginning to enjoy that my tooth thwarts him.

I have now, I believe, called every state in the union at least once after over a decade of phonebank work.

Kind of detoxing from a prodigious twitter habit, though happy to find this again. Trying out a few other things to fill the space, but they haven't quite. Hope it's not the brushes with fame(or even infamy) that I am missing. Elon sucks.

Solidarity is great and humbling and I intend to stay in the fight as ever, but I do feel a little as though my personal self is disappearing..this is partially scary, and partially " Good riddance" I suppose(I've never felt especially good at being me, anyway, but I think I'd rather that got better instead of disappearing.)
Getting by with the help of my friends...