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Journal of No. 118

November 3rd, 2004

Depression @ 08:15 am

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Fear has trumped sanity. I was hoping that Americans could do better.

Early on in the party, Rebecca dropped the tiki-god bottle opener and he broke on the floor. When the household tiki gods depart, you know it's not a good sign. Apart from the obvious, the party was successful.

I'm pissed off, depressed and hung-over. An unlikely combination and I don't recommend it. I'm sticking to my plan of taking the day off from work. As an act of self-destructive protest, I'm gonna sit and drink and eat leftover party food until I burst like an overfed tick.
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Date:November 3rd, 2004 09:45 am (UTC)
I hate George Bush.
I hate fat ignorant Christian Americans.
I hate the fact that we're now going to be less safe from terrorism.
I hate that we won't make any progress toward clean energy or energy independence.
I hate that the rest of the world will be confirmed in their disgust at Americans.
I hate that we're going to dig ourselves into such an economic chasm that our children's children won't be be able to escape it.
I hate that separation of church and state is seriously in danger.
I hate that moderation in the supreme court was just lost.
And most of all, I hate that I have no idea what a sane person can do now. I'm thinking about writing my representatives and begging them to filibuster like crazy for four years just to minimize the damage that's coming down the track.

All of that is true. But, for the love of Pete, Mike, don't eat until you burst like an overfed tick. I'm glad that I managed to abscond with all the perishable baked goods before you could put your plan into effect, but I'm still anxious as there was quite a quantity of corn chips, pretzels, and leftover Halloween candy, not to mention a buttload of alcohol.

Date:November 3rd, 2004 01:40 pm (UTC)


I completely agree with you. It's a depressing day and it will extend to four years.

Mike, I would come over and self-destruct with you if my stomach was not already in peril of exploding. Fight the good fight, my friend.

Journal of No. 118