I tried logging out of all things Meta early this morning, but then I remembered that my co-pirate now texts me from his Dick Tracy (no internet) watch. He can send and receive texts and make calls to only a list of numbers his parents have pre-set.
Later, I'm going to tinker Jake's photo into a new header here.
And here I was upset that the vintage Mickey Mouse watch I was going to gift him was ruined when the battery leaked into the works.
The non-stop, all-media Shitweasel Shitshow is everywhere so that alone is making it easier to put the phone face down and turn the tabs elsewhere.
We are having a spell of New England-style weather (temps in the teens in Georgia is exceptional) with some snow predicted for tomorrow. The cat posse blames me.
I'm making the Real a workaround to take the place of the mostly useless ephemera of the web as I wean myself away from all things that Zuck. I'll stay informed by a few trusted sources --Bluesky will take some getting used to.
Remember the squeal-snarl-snap of dialing up to the web, then falling down the rabbit hole of AOL? Or the Well if you are older.
BBS anyone? It took some doing to recover from all that, but I did it before and will do it again.
It's a sunrise on a nation more than half full of decent people who know right from wrong.
Who will call out shit when they smell it and do the right thing when they can.
I see our country just climbing out of its pimply teenage self-absorption. The sobering and maturing is taking root right now.
Meanwhile, there are stories to tell.
Biscuits to make.
Books to write and stitches to take.
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