Or, in the alternative, things never fix themselves.
It’s weird that when you take a personality test, you aren’t suppose to like the answer.
Are we not supposed to like ourselves, or are we so sick of hearing ourselves think?
We’re stuck right now in an endless political swell, a continuously crashing wave of horror with a foam of hope.
It’s so terrifying that we’re on so many timelines, so few of which we can set ourselves. We are so lucky to exist when we do and where we do and every good thing is an undiscovered corner in a thrift shop.
So much possibility.
Likely best characterized by the end of February.
