It’s a grey day, mentally, as so many pieces of the massive long con puzzle fall into place. I feel very much like a ghost flitting about the chaos, wishing I could shove the pieces away, saving what little might be saved by the gesture. Ineffectual, resigned.

I’ve taken to listening to Atlas Shrugged on Audible as a kind of self-medication. It has been particularly and addictively applied as the office full of pablum-lapping liberals hoot and cackle over their “win”. The older gentlemen move with a kind of avoidance around their trolls as if to avoid a contagion. Weary – we are, all of us of a certain age and mind – weary unto death of the nonsense.

I’d once told a freely admitted socialist here that if the Obamacare tax went through that I’d have no choice but to leave my job and remove myself from that tax; that it was so abhorrent to me that it would be the last straw. But I look to our reserves and tell myself, hell, it matters not at all. It’s all crashing down, anyway, and one might as well take the money, buy whatever we can, and pray it will be enough.

It is a terrible ennui that grips me. Nothing pleases, everything tasting of ashes…but as I toss another load of laundry in the dying washer I remind myself that the burden of that labor is still easy. I wash the dishes and remind myself that the endless spigot will dry and that the pudgy arms will grow solid with the hated weight of that life-giving element when it has to be toted to and fro.

I battle that surrender – I keep looking for things of value that we are shy of – what am I missing? Aluminum foil…matches…Gold Bond…all the things of blessed mercy that our days are chock full of…all those things that would be so dear if gone. I make mental notes and try to remedy the lacking here and there. Much as we are with the clearing of the Man Room, a tallying of what is there and what we need.

I listen to someone go on about tickets – some kind of insurance complaint – and want to stand above the cubicle and yell out that they are slaughtering the Republic for their damned vanity and to grow the fuck up already – but it is a foolish waste of time. They are decades from seeing their folly. If we make it that long.

No, instead, I must keep finding birds of a feather…maintain contacts and send out tendrils with deep care and hesitation so as to generate a kind of safety net. No man is an island and all that. But there is a hazard in it. One must do so with tremendous care and it takes rather a lot of time to vet anyone. And speaking of tendrils…

Facebook spat up a friend option to me – someone quite distinctly segregated from any of my online doings. Someone that it ought never to have linked…and I knew then that the system had won. The coordinates had been acquired, the 1’s and 0’s lined up in just the right way so that one could almost give a human sentiment to the code, hear a kind of snicker as the link pops up. Well, that’s done, then, I told myself. Hell, it wasn’t good for much, anyway, other than keeping a better track of friends than I am usually able. So it goes.

And the same applies to this space – his application is in and one needn’t have too much on the net for discovery. I’ve worked hard to keep this very much about Me and My beliefs – not annotating each debate we have in which his opinion differs – as it does on a few points. But I can easily imagine an enemy making it into fine fodder. Particularly an enemy so fully teflon’d as to be able to deflect a case against him with photographic evidence….persona non grata we are, now, in certain parts of the county. Glad I am that he is off the road and no longer relying on their backup. Heaven help us when the idiot gets to be a Lieutenant.

Regardless, I see the enemy here and there – and I no longer feel quite as above the fray as I once did. There is a very squicky feeling when the arm stretches out and points at you, even if only briefly before gliding onward. I’d felt it once before when certain documents fell into my lap and calls had the constant clicking of careless carriers.

Maybe it is time to end all this online business and get straight to the work at hand. After all, being constrained in my language is tiresome. I won’t be surprised to find more and more people dropping from the ephemeral presence. Work to be done, after all, and the pieces are being fitted together with ever-increasing pace as the final picture is discerned. In time, even the most obtuse individual will see it for what it is and think – eh, when did THAT happen? – and we’ll just shake our heads in contempt.

Time to get to work…because I have seen the full picture. My early warning went off a while back and I see you. Tally-ho, you soul killing piece of shit. Tally-ho, motherfucker.

2 thoughts on “Tally-ho”

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