(no subject)
This is the first morning that I've woken up feeling anywhere near OK. Anywhere near baseline. And I think it was because I managed to cry a little last night . . . Wednesday, when Coyote told me who was running my country for the next four years, I was just too devastated to feel . . . anything, really. I was numb, and my tears were as stuck as the chuckles that Coyote tried mightily to coax out of me.
OK isn't really the right word for how I feel now, though.
More miserable than I can remember being in years, but nowhere near as down as I was Wednesday night . . . I guess that covers it.
The funny thing is, I have to paint again this weekend, and the only two people who might be willing to lend a hand are two of my . . . four? Five? Conservative friends. That's OK, though: I'll just tack a list of banned words on the door (Election, President, Iraqi War, Foreign Policy, Economy, Environment, Voting, and so forth) and I bet they'll both keep their gloating to themselves.
This is not my beautiful life. I mean, it's one thing to have an avid dinner conversation on Monday night about how quickly Coyote and I can work to be an Artist-in-Exile, and another to actually have to do it.
I can't stay. I'm sorry. I'm sure some will call it a cowardly action, but . . . you just don't know how hard the last four years have been. I can't take another round of watching as the America I loved is yanked away, bit by bit, before my eyes.
I'll be getting drunk (sorry, pissed) in a pub in Warrimoo when the telly mumbles something about America overturning Roe v. Wade. I'll be listening to Kookaburras crack each other up some twilit night when Patriot II goes through, ditto the further policies to pollute the planet, ditto all the new wars that Cowboy Dubya decides to start once he's satisfied with his Iraqi mess.
This is not what I wanted. I wanted to finish my portfolio, get my MFA in Animation in NYC, get a teaching/animating job, then go Down Under for awhile.
I have to pick up my skirts and go, now, (well, in 9 months to a year, depending on how fast we can make $) but I'll be back. I want to help Edwards, Clinton (Hilary), Clinton (Chelsea) and whoever else defeat The Governator and Jeb and Mit and Giuliani and whoever else wants to try to stop us.
In the meantime, I have a fantasy world all set up and ready. Maybe some don't understand or approve of my brand of escapism but . . . I wonder . . . have any Kerry supporters been sober since Tuesday night? Besides me? I'd love to see the stats in a few months, I wonder what the rates of alcoholism, depression, etc, will be for my demographic. We tried (well, brave people like lediva tried) so hard, and it still didn't go to our guy. And if we mumble about minorities, yet again, being turned away and polling inaccuracies, we sound like nothing but a bunch of sore losers.
I was going to end on a lighter note, but I've forgotten it. I'm going to Roundabout, which is almost ready to be shown to the world at large.
I'm afraid of Americans.
OK isn't really the right word for how I feel now, though.
More miserable than I can remember being in years, but nowhere near as down as I was Wednesday night . . . I guess that covers it.
The funny thing is, I have to paint again this weekend, and the only two people who might be willing to lend a hand are two of my . . . four? Five? Conservative friends. That's OK, though: I'll just tack a list of banned words on the door (Election, President, Iraqi War, Foreign Policy, Economy, Environment, Voting, and so forth) and I bet they'll both keep their gloating to themselves.
This is not my beautiful life. I mean, it's one thing to have an avid dinner conversation on Monday night about how quickly Coyote and I can work to be an Artist-in-Exile, and another to actually have to do it.
I can't stay. I'm sorry. I'm sure some will call it a cowardly action, but . . . you just don't know how hard the last four years have been. I can't take another round of watching as the America I loved is yanked away, bit by bit, before my eyes.
I'll be getting drunk (sorry, pissed) in a pub in Warrimoo when the telly mumbles something about America overturning Roe v. Wade. I'll be listening to Kookaburras crack each other up some twilit night when Patriot II goes through, ditto the further policies to pollute the planet, ditto all the new wars that Cowboy Dubya decides to start once he's satisfied with his Iraqi mess.
This is not what I wanted. I wanted to finish my portfolio, get my MFA in Animation in NYC, get a teaching/animating job, then go Down Under for awhile.
I have to pick up my skirts and go, now, (well, in 9 months to a year, depending on how fast we can make $) but I'll be back. I want to help Edwards, Clinton (Hilary), Clinton (Chelsea) and whoever else defeat The Governator and Jeb and Mit and Giuliani and whoever else wants to try to stop us.
In the meantime, I have a fantasy world all set up and ready. Maybe some don't understand or approve of my brand of escapism but . . . I wonder . . . have any Kerry supporters been sober since Tuesday night? Besides me? I'd love to see the stats in a few months, I wonder what the rates of alcoholism, depression, etc, will be for my demographic. We tried (well, brave people like lediva tried) so hard, and it still didn't go to our guy. And if we mumble about minorities, yet again, being turned away and polling inaccuracies, we sound like nothing but a bunch of sore losers.
I was going to end on a lighter note, but I've forgotten it. I'm going to Roundabout, which is almost ready to be shown to the world at large.
I'm afraid of Americans.