Funny how you listen to songs and hear them differently, with additional life experience.
Like “Florida!!!” in the SL.
As I’ve been doing a “Scandal” rewatch now that JD “Couch Fucker” Vance is building his Ottoman Empire (hah) by either having a fourth brown baby (and he hates brown people) …
Or Usha is wearing the pregnancy belly because EriKKKa is pregnant since she did hint at HOPING to be pregnant since the white supremacist got offed (by the government, I presume) …
And it’s all straight out of Mellie’s playbook on “Scandal,” to fake a pregnancy with “America’s Baby” to get the spotlight off Fitz’s philandering and other scandals.
A fake pregnancy that, eventually, resulted in a real one.
Not that it forced them to love each other. If anything, it made Mellie resent Fitz more and drove him closer to Liv.
There was a quote from Season 1 that hit me hard. Something along the lines of, “He isn’t meant to be happy. He’s meant to be great.
I felt that in my soul.
I haven’t figured out how to be great.
So I’m learning to be happy.
Most days I do OK.
Today, not so much.
Indeed, I had my own Fitz. Or two. Or three.
We all have.
But “Love left me like this and I don’t want to exist” doesn’t apply.
Not to them.
Tomorrow marks two years since I lost Cocoa.
And really, 2026 is now the second calendar year that she and Mom didn’t set paw in.
So that means two years without Mom is around the corner.
Speaking of years, Shan mentioned that she turned 58 last month.
Other people born that year look 104. So either she looks fantastic or else evil ages a person.
In any event, I am so down in the dumps.
My neighbor speculates that we’ll be without an elevator for two more months. “Software issues” now.
Like this thing was installed in 1984 and we went with the cheapest bidder to “modernize” it. Do any of them know what software even is?
So even when I find my dream apartment, what am I gonna do … toss shit over the balcony? Rent extra months?
Worse … lose my momentum?!
Also the Proud Boys aka ICE keep killing white protestors in the streets.
I struggle daily with wanting to even be here anymore.
Like do I make my grand purpose to go protesting with abandon … and if it’s my time, it’s my time?
The only thing keeping me alive is trump is going to die soon and I HAVE to be here for it.
HAVE TO.
I am afraid I will be on the phone with my boss when the news breaks.
The one who asked if I celebrated when Charlie was Kirked.
Listen — I am going to slam down the phone and get drunk. If I don’t laugh and shriek so fucking hard that I get fired on the spot.
What a way to live.