Monday, 22 February 2021

day one of five

 I'll write a blog post every day for five days. I figure that should be enough to really teach everyone a very complete and much deserved lesson; although someone who I have been longing to teach a lesson to ever since I first encountered, and was utterly trounced by, their particular brand of stupid boring meandering and entitled old bullshit, looks like they're soon going to get this lesson, "because of Covid" as everyone enjoys saying now irrespective of whether the thing they're on about is because of Covid or not.* But this good forthcoming lesson is definitely because of it. A tinpot dictator of a social club about an hour's drive away told one of my staff today that he's arranged for several hundred young people to be bussed into the Shrine to spend half a day there on April 28, having "an educational experience" presumably provided by us. He's actually been doing just this for many years whether we like it or invite it or not (we don't), but as I learned early on, the Shrine is a feminine psychic space not only by virtue of the fact that its inner chamber is, psychologically, a symbolic womb, but also because as a collective entity we have a downtroddenly girlish diffidence about saying no to anyone. But this year, there is no way in hell that anything involving several hundred people coming inside at once is going to happen, that's that, and I shall have a brief but rich moment of pleasure tomorrow in telling him so. But not until after lunch, because he doesn't take calls til then! 

I went to bed early last night and slept very fitfully, waking up enough at around dawn to look at my phone and see I'd somehow managed to deactivate the alarm during the night. So I was running a bit late today, though only  little bit, and I have felt both sleepy and tired all evening. Ugh, so many things I have to do, and four more complete days of almost managing to get through the new things added to the to-do pile in the last 24 hours. What I am going to do now is get into bed and read The New Yorker, or "The New Yorker" as it would affectedly refer to itself; I am two and a half issues behind.

I've recently started to doubt myself in a new way - must be a side effect of middle age - and it occurs to me that maybe the way I use commas isn't universally understood as self-evidently the very best way to use them, and maybe instead there is a mistaken thought that I don't really know know what I'm doing in the punctuation department. I do though.

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