Deep Thoughts, Shallow Breathing

That’d be a great title for something. I mean, probably not this blog post, but fuck it, I guess. There it is.

So Elon Musk bought Twitter, I would guess mostly so he could kill it, but I think he also thought it might make him some friends. What I think is sort of amazing is… Okay, look, I didn’t think this dude was some fucking genius wizard guy, but good god almighty, I have met smarter doorknobs. I believe he cares about his ego and image enough to care about how he looks to the outside world and he wants so desperately to be funny, but the fact is it’s real clear that this dumbshit is worse with numbers and how they relate to the real world than I am, and I fucking suck at that shit (I am better broadly conceptually with the theory of it all, but the application? Nah. This guy doesn’t even get that.)

The difference is that my dad didn’t make a fortune off the souls who worked in his mine. And I don’t have a penis. There you go. (I also would have left Twitter alone. It was a hellscape, and financially I can’t imagine it was a great investment anyway, but it was good for a lot of on the fly organizational things and was a good way for stories that would have been pushed aside and lost to be heard. And that’s really fucking important.)

So anyway, fuck that guy.

I am almost two months post surgery and let me tell you: having a scar right across six inches of your spine is a really fucking weird feeling to get used to. If I bend too far I feel like… I don’t know, a quarter or a jelly bean is going to pop out. It’s also still kind of jarring to wear pants that have a stiff waistband, because it’s… this hard skin sitting on bone. And sitting for more than a half hour sucks balls, but we drove an hour and a half to meet my parents in Portsmouth last week and while it was agonizing to get out of the car and start moving around both there and back, it was nice once I was up and moving to be able to be up and moving with relative ease. I was going to wear jeans to “dress up” and I couldn’t, so luckily New Hampshire is the way it is. Hahahaha. I love to shit on New Hampshire, but really everyone in New England knows the state that must be shat upon is Connecticut.

Fuck Connecticut.