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Hacked out 2,000 words yesterday, and I do mean "hacked:" Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, I had a fantasy that my life was a massive hunk of stone—well. not so massive anymore—from which I was whittling huge chunks in meaningless pursuit—well. not so meaningless—of filthy lucre.

Sigh...

As a palate cleanser between Remunerative bouts, I watched multiple documentaries on the life of Martha Stewart.

My horrible cousin went through a Martha Stewart phase sometime in her early 20s. Alicia was constantly pumping out gilded wreaths & sachet bunches that made me want to barf. Thing is, though, Alicia has horrible maudlin taste, which came across in all her crafty shit, whereas Martha Stewart has excellent taste. The gilded wreaths in these documentaries were really quite exquisite!

Of course, Martha Stewart comes across as a horrible human being. All the PR manipulation in the world can't scrub the taint of "cold abusive bitch" from her.

Apologists throughout the documentaries kept saying, "If she were a man, you wouldn't be calling her cold abusive bitch."

Right! I'd be calling her "cold abusive bastard"!

I don't value late stage capitalism's instruments of validation at all.

###

The magnitude of Martha Stewart's accomplishments is impressive, though.

She singlehandedly invented both the lifestyle industry ($6.3 trillion globally) and the DIY industry ($861 billion).

How did she do it???

Intelligence. Vision. Innate talent. Being in the right place at the right time.

Also, apparently, she only needs to sleep three hours a night.

This must be why I am a failure. If I don't sleep eight hours a night, it's hard for me to function.

Reddit is just filled with people who only wanna sleep three hours a night!!! Just think of all the stuff I could do if I had five more hours in the day!!!

What? Watch more True Crime documentaries on Netflix? Scroll on your phone more often? Play more video games?

Plus, if you don't sleep, you can't dream, and dreaming is the most fabulous thing there is.

###

Today, I must hammer out another 2,000 words. And bake a sour cherry pie for Flavia—Brian used to bake her one every year, & I went sour cherry picking in July with the express intention of making one for her.

I will bring the pie when I meet up with Flavia, Mimi, & Daria tonight.

I am in a prickley mood, so I am actually not looking forward to this.

The Women Brian Left Behind! UGH.

I mean, I loved Brian. I miss him. But what are we supposed to do? Build a suttee? Immolate ourselves on it?

I'm sure I'm just being unbecomingly contentious and will recover my equanimity by this evening.

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