B called at the crack of dawn to inform me that:
(A) RTT was so hideously depressed that B had been up with him till 4 in the morning trying to text him down
– and that –
(B) he (B) had shingles.
Before I even had coffee!
The magic power I want?
The ability to shield the people I love from pain and distress.
Truly, I’d rather be kidnapped by Erik and Sigfried (gratuitous The Last Kingdom reference alert!) than have one drop of misery descend upon those who huddle in the small inner circle of my heart.
But, helas! Such small sorceries as I command are only strong enough to hold the umbrella over me and my cats.
I’m really grateful that I’ve landed where I’ve landed. That somehow after all the vicissitudes of my life, I’ve landed in a pretty little world where I’m more-or-less content. Yeah, yeah – I got troubles. Fixing the car is probably gonna set me back a grand. That pain on the right side of my neck? It’s cancer, right? Plus I gained 20 pounds over the course of the winter so that now, when I try to wiggle into my favorite black dress, I look just like Mama June pre-bariatric surgery.
But these aren’t problems. They’re vexations.
Plus even if they were problems, they’d be first world problems.
No. I’ve lucked out. And I know it.
But you can’t share luck.
Else? The proto-Rimbaud blogger wrote back, giving me access to a podcast he’d done recently. “Use any quote you want,” he said.
His blog has no personal identifying info on it whatsoever, which is something I respect. That means he’s not keeping it for personal aggrandizement or self-promotion.
And I suppose I have to do Vox Popoli as one of the Trump Insurgency blogs.
I really loathe Vox Day a/k/a Theodore Robert Beale. Nazis love him ‘cause he uses words of more than one syllable when he writes about white nationalism. Science fiction fans may remember him as one of the driving forces behind the whole Hugo Award hashtag RabidPuppies controversy.