Rough Day

First there was Safeway Pharmacy. It’s the fourth time so far that I’ve called in advance to make sure everything was in order, and it’s the forth time I didn’t get the stuff I needed. I guess it would be less of an issue if I was there more often, which I’m not these days, thanks to Safeway prices getting ahead of me. I can’t even afford their sales anymore, and they’ve tagged even non-sales to look like sale items. So I just stopped shopping there.

Then I emailed Sansa about my mp3 player. The stereo jack is such that I only get mono unless I apply pressure (light, sustained) to the side of the cord jack. This makes it useless as a playback device, especially when mobile. Sadly, stereo jacks often wear out easily, but that makes devices they’re on useless without repair.

Then I got in a quarrel with a friend about sacred words and sacred things. The NewsRadio episode Rosebowl features freemasonry and a word that is authentically sacred to them, and some freemasons got upset.

I’m reminded of the Charlie Hebdo shooting, Kim Davis‘s religious offense over gay people having the same rights as her, and every grade school teacher ever who would shame, incarcerate or beat schoolkids over special words rather than educate their students regarding their appropriate use.

I’m reminded of countries in which blasphemy is a capital crime. Capital as in, the state mandates murder over it. Some of them actually take the poor sod’s head off. Fuck those nations. Fuck those cultures.

People who have sacred things are hurt by those sacred things used for levity, that’s worth killing other people over. When I’m offended that people murder no one gives a jot of a shit.

Maybe only faith-based offense is valid. Maybe only the feelings of the righteous have any merit.

So I’m feeling hurt, because people hate and are hostile and malicious and violent without fair cause or provocation, sometimes specifically at me or at people like me, or people I care about. Sometimes at people who are not connected to me at all but it hurts anyway. Because I’m not in your special club either. I’m on the outside too.

And often I have to eat my own sorrow alone until I’m bitter and cynical. And boy do I hear the thunder of the entire universe’s silence. Boy am I embraced in it’s vacuum-cold apathy regarding what I feel, or if I even exist.

So I’m fucking sad.

And bitter.

And cynical.


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