I am profoundly uninterested in seeing the new James Bond film, not just because I am done with that sort of retrograde masculinity but because I am pretty sure it doesn’t take into account the vast trauma of COVID-19 and our collective (by which I mean my personal) inability to process anything more emotionally complicated than a plate of beans right now.
All tagged Flirting with disaster
On the one hand: tired of this shit.
On the other hand: fuck it.
Things are simultaneously great and terrible, somehow. We have moved to a new place, which is great. I no longer have to treat my room as an all-in-one work-from-home/reading lounge/therapist’s office/entertainment center/zen yoga shala/sleeping zone where I also eat my oatmeal every morning (in bed). I now have separate places for all those activities. And yet I still do everything in one place: the kitchen.
The lead-up to Christmas this year was really fun. Nature wasn’t trying to murder us (compared to last year, when we had the Thomas Fire crawling up our butts and then the mud literally killing people), and we had enough money to throw around on superfluous things like fire wood and snacks, so we loaded up.
