There have been a lot of health problems and difficulties in our household this fall, a lot of stress.  Usually my neurotypical sauce carries me through it all, but I’ve been feeling very emotionally raw, sensitive, anxious.  Like I need to push, push, push.  Do more.  Conversely, feeling more sad than usual about the sad things.  My closest biological fam all have bipolar with major depressive features, so safe bet this is some species of the same.  Not likely to get any worse or go long term, just an aberration caused by a rough time.

You may have noticed the anti-AI contingent just stepped back into the ring.  He can have the floor if he wants it.  Continuing would be bad for my health.  If you’ve seen my pinned post, you’ve seen the most important thing I have to say about that topic, to which the computer nerds have no useful retort.

What’s on my mind at the moment is how fucking often I’ve been saying fuck lately.  Fuckity fuck fuck.  Fuck this, fuck that.  Give me the fucking money you fucking fuck…  It’s too butch.  Not that you can’t be a lady what curses the blue streak, but I owe it to myself to be less of an ogre.

I’ll be more of a lamia and eat your kids.  Boogah!  I kid, I kid…

But yeah, not so much fuck now.  Not so much mania.  Peace and love on mother earff.  Silent hill, holy hill, all is calm, all is chill.  Round yon virgin, new mexican whiptail lizard.  Holey infant got crucifizard.  Sleep in heavenly heaps.  Sleep in heavenly heeeeaaaps.

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