Onward Into Kakistocracy. And Yarn.

I'm still very sad and very pissed, I'll probably remain so until the day I die, but if we all don't get coping mechanisms in place, that day will come sooner than later. 

As the meme says: I'm not a member of the "tolerant left," I'm a member of the EAT SHIT AND DIE YOU TREASONOUS ASSHOLES LEFT. 

And then I deleted a lot of ranting.

For me, a break from news programs and podcasts helped. I really don't need anybody reinforcing what we already know and can't do a damn thing about at the moment, so even my beloved Rachael Maddow is in timeout for now. Not that I don't love and trust her, but I'm not up to 45 minutes of news in one sitting yet.

I keep reminding myself that 20 years ago I was really involved in politics and then I had a fucking brain aneurysm. I had a lot of life stress going on too, but the Bush Administration sure as fuck didn't help.

I'm 20 years older now, and far less likely to survive a repeat of anything like that. Self care is literally survival now.

I do follow sane voices online, like Heather Cox Richardson. She'll ease me back to listening to my other favorite historian, kindly Doc Maddow. (If you know who calls her "kindly Doc Maddow," you're part of my tribe.)

The only podcast I can tolerate right now (it's like I'm recovering from a stomach virus and can only tolerate certain things) is The Professional Left. They're just incredibly nice, sane, sweary, non-hysterical, normal people. I've followed them as bloggers since the Bush administration. They're good people and probably have no idea how often they've talked me off many a ledge over the years. We've never met in person (they're in a cornfield in Illinois) but they feel like friends. Blue Gal is also a knitter and recently started a YouTube channel. 

Maybe I'll be able to build up to my former news consumption eventually, but not yet. Outside my usual work day, I'm reading, knitting, crocheting, cleaning, and consuming news in small, measured doses. And the funny thing is I feel entirely informed by reading actual journalists on Bluesky, where everybody has moved since that bird site became fully occupied by Nazis. I left the dead bird site and don't miss it even a little; all the people I like to read are on Bluesky. I'm on Bluesky, though I am still more in reading and finding friends mode so far and haven't been posting much. I need to change that. 

In OTHER news: Gidget randomly and expensively gave herself a lick granuloma in October, and spent a week in a cone of shame. All's well now. My anxiety brain of course went directly to mast cell tumor, but that doesn't appear to be the case as it has healed cleanly. It also doesn't appear to be arthritis, and she's on allergy meds, so who knows? I'm guessing it was caused by her natural anxiety and maybe the Most Expensive Mosquito Bite Ever.

The vet's office apologized for not having a smaller cone. It's a more country practice than the former one and they don't deal with a lot of 10 lb. dogs. She bounced off door frames a bit, but otherwise adjusted to it with her usual good humor. All's well that was expensively well. If she keeps licking body parts we may move on to anxiety meds, but it's so intermittent and unpredictable, I have no idea what to do next.

Eddie remains Eddie. He's just the nicest, funniest, LOUDEST little guy ever, but such good boy. He's still LOUD when he sees another dog, but the funniest thing is he's not loud when he sees Not-Dogs. A bunny crossed our path yesterday morning in our pre-dawn walkie and he spotted it and wagged his tail and looked delighted, but didn't make a sound. We haven't seen the resident raccoon in a while but when we do, he doesn't bark, he just talks to it softly, like he's coaxing it to be friends. 

But a dog a quarter mile away must be announced at top volume, always!

So, I'm not a big Thanksgiving person. As I've said in the past, I've cooked turkeys in every type of kitchen other than on a boat or a spaceship, and I'm over it. It's a lot of work for two hours of eating and the hell of dealing with leftovers and cleanup. I'm NOT a fan.

For the last several years we've been eating out, and I liked that very much. This year because of the wee one I'll be joining The Guy Who Needs a Blog Alias's family at his brother's house. 

The Kid has requested that I make stuffing, because apparently they didn't have stuffing last year, so I shall make a small casserole of her great-grandma's standard. I was assured it wasn't necessary because there's enough food for an army, but I'm of the generation that feels icky about showing up empty-handed. 

I'm still having my usual social anxiety, though I know it'll be just fine, and we'll have a baby and another toddler to get all the attention, and I do know how to talk to people, I'm not THAT socially awkward. I just don't enjoy it. There's still that part of me that would rather spend the day on the couch with movies and knitting, but it's an opportunity to meet the new "in-laws"and I do want to meet them. 

The highlight of my holiday weekend will be Sunday, when we will go to EPCOT Festival of the Holidays. We missed this last year when my pregnant daughter insisted we had to do Christmas at the Magic Kingdom instead, which was crowded AF and otherwise like Magic Kingdom with Christmas decorations. 

The Festival of the Holidays is vastly superior, IMNSHO (there's an old-timey acronym for my fellow olds). It isn't the holidays if we don't see the Christmas storytellers, and it's not too early to get Sebastian started off right, with La Befana and Father Christmas and Pere Noel. If the line isn't too long we'll get a photo with the true and authentic Santa. When his big sister The Kid was little she wanted nothing to do with Santa at the mall or anywhere. NFW was she sitting on that stranger's lap. Then she met Santa at Disney, and instantly approved. She knew the real deal when she saw it. She told him what she wanted for Christmas and posed for pictures as if she hadn't consistently recoiled from Santa like he was a clown beckoning to her from a sewer. Disney Magic is real, y'all.