The Butcher is going to lose his job.
One of my dearest friends is going to have to give birth alone.
The person who first published my fiction has Covid-19 and it’s very likely she will die.
Fuck yes, I’m keeping a list. And fuck yes, I will burn with rage about it for the rest of my life. These evil dumb fucks did this to us. They wanted to hurt us as bad as they could and they did. And I will never forgive them.
I support you in your rage.
I live in a house with two people over 80, a pregnant woman, and her child who hasn’t even turned two years old. I’m in one of the richest states with one of the best state-run health insurance programs, and we have just had what is likely the first child death from this thing in the entire goddamn country.
I don’t have a job or school or any obligations and I spend all of my time in my room fucking around on the internet and my daily life has changed in no appreciable way but I’m scared. I’m on plenty of meds for anxiety and pretty good at separating reasonable from unreasonable responses to situations (even if I can’t change the fact that my body occasionally decides it needs to flee or I get stuck with stuff in my head I can’t get out even though it terrifies me, or sometimes I want to cry for no reason at all, at least I know they’re not the result of something I should have been aware of or did wrong or am actually threatened by), and this isn’t anxiety and it isn’t unreasonable and I don’t know what to do.
My grandparents keep leaving the house for errands even though I beg them to stay, my sister’s boyfriend (who also lives with us) is one of the truckers keeping everything together and he has to go out, as does my dad (who lives nearby), since he’s one of the people supporting the people who make sure the City of Los Angeles keeps functioning.
I really, really, really hope I don’t have anything to contribute to your list.
What does the Butcher do? Maybe we have an opening. . . . . We are considered essential, so still open and working, though some are working from home. I can ask around at least.
Opus, he manages a warehouse, though he’s smart and can learn anything.
Mag, I hear you.
For so long I’ve had this lecture I give myself about maintaining some kind of standard and that you can fight something vicious without being dragged down to anyone’s bottom floor.
It’s been crumbling for a while but I’ve reached a level of rage and horror I don’t think it’s possible to come back from the same as one was before.
I will never forgive them either. The out there anonymous them and the portion of them that I know.
I completely get that. I want to be good and forgiving and try to engage with the world how I wish the world would engage with me. But I now know something so ugly about people that I feel like I would be putting myself in danger (further danger) if I didn’t tread them as openly and knowingly hostile toward me.