When the Rain Comes

I’m feeling all rumbly, tumbly jumbled this morning. Warum? Eh, same reason as every other mostly sane creature in the US – I’m so, SO tired of all the lies, hyper hysteria and nutzoid gaslighting. I’m beyond sick of the Republi/Fascist tiny dicked theft of democracy FOR ALL (versus just for the micro-schwanzed rich, white men). Make no bloody mistake, 45 is just the overly cosmetic-ed head of the hate monster party that’s killing this country. And I’ll stop that rant, right fucking there.

We’ve got EIGHT days until November third. No, I don’t think we’ll know what’s what, who won, on that night OR by the next morning. Still, we will have hit the mark. I gotta stop obsessing over the polls and cease with the we’re-all-gonna-fucking-die (‘cept for the 1%-ers) bullshit. We won’t know the score on 11/3 but it’s likely that shit’s gonna get even more crazy-headed, no matter what. I need to beat the rush and start attempting calm and chill NOW.

Meanwhile, Plague45 gets worse every damn day. In Massachusetts, yesterday alone, there were 1,077 new cases, 25 fresh deaths and 538 people needing to be hospitalized – thanks to Prez Giant Orange Maggot and his mentally unhinged, renfieldian Republi/Fascist sycophants.

The states in the worst shape now are North and South Dakota, Montana and Wisconsin but the Midwest, in general, is on fire too.

Idiot lap dog, Dense Pence, says he "couldn't be more proud” of how Prez Shambling Superspreader handled COVID, even as his own staff is now riddled with it. Supposedly Mother’s boy doesn’t have it…YET. Also, Mark Meadows, the WH chief of morons says they’ve given up on trying to “control” the virus. 

Question – when did they ever put forth ANY effort to control it at all?

All this and, in tomorrow’s online PT session, I need to request some kind of an organized schedule. I have a list of all the exercises that I should be doing (on top of my walking and ellipticaling) but I have a nasty habit of overdoing it. (yes, yez, why do when I can overdo?)  I'll have a great exercise day, feel Almost “normal” (as close as I ever get) and then, in the next day or two, I’m back to popping Tylenol like Pez, sparking up the heating pad and lying in bed with Coco draped over my chest and neck. I'm two and a half months post-op — shouldn't I be ALL better now?

I could PROBABLY put together my own schedge but doesn’t it make oodles of sense for a pro physical therapist to do it? Ya know?

AND, Ten just zipped out to the grocery to see if he can score me some Oreos. Why? Apart from the fact that I, just generally, enjoy the damn things, they have a new magnificently awesome commercial up. Some ratfucking, religo/fascist, asswipian, “christian,” twat group is raising a ruckus. Of course they are – birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim, assholes gotta asshole.

 By the by, I found the Oreo story and the cat quarantine comic via Infidel753’s latest link round-up (Various interesting stuff I ran across on the net over the last week). I LURV this feature on his blog! He introduces me to so much interesting, weird, funny stuff that I wouldn’t otherwise see.

OK, I gotta get up and out for a walk before the rain comes.