‘Cause really, so many reasons to raise all the middle fingers to fashion, however, unlike so many “real” magazines, Teen Vogue has clapped back hard at Trump. For this, they got my dollars.
I’m trying to do my business on the throne in the small office (the one that has the shower), and it’s taking longer than it should because I’m also holding my kitten, Umbra.
She climbed up on me and I started to hold her without thinking about it, and now I have a kitten snuggled up on me in my left hand and my phone in the right.
I blog in the bathroom since I gave up Twitter and Facebook. I’ve traded compulsive, addicted reading and collecting FOMO points for awkward blogging.
Pretty much like everyone else who values, well, values, I’ve been depressed/horrified (horpresstified?) since the election of Putin’s Pet, and the cabinet picks that have followed.
Watching a couple episodes of the near-future sci-fi anthology Black Mirror. Did. Not. Help.
I use a program called Freedom to save me from the addiction of the refresh button on Facebook, and from wallowing in the 140 characters at a time swamp of Twitter.
But even with the expulsion of Twitter and the hobbling of Facebook, today I was still in a trench of gloom. I was leaving the house to go to the Y, and told my daughter (through her bedroom door) I was going. She said okay sleepily. I told her she also had a package and she was insta-perky: “Oh boy!”
She went from drowsy to excited so fast I laughed. Which made her laugh. Which rocketed me out of my gloom trench and into happiness so fast that I could see how low I’d been, which made me want to cry.
(Warning to new readers: I’m a crier. If you like criers, I’m one of the best. I cry when I’m sad, when I’m angry, and when I’m frustrated. I leak for almost any occasion.)
Tonight, I pretty much made Twitter impossible to get back into, which gave me the kind of relief that standing up to a bad situation does.
Since you can’t see my relief, have a picture of my kitten, Umbra.