Instead, I opened an email and was ready to dress head to toe in black wrappings, find my rusty machete, and head out into the night looking for someone deserving to slay. Let's just say it's a long skulk to Washington. I'm beginning to understand the rash of seemingly unprovoked violence going around like a certain virus. People are stressed to the max and snapping.
Me? I was disproportionately enraged that a package sent out west and received at the post office was, without notice, sent back to me because the recipient hadn't picked it up. The rules say 30 days if you notify them of a hold being needed. This was barely two weeks. Hopefully, it will come back to my doorstep, but that will not be the end of the issue. Asses will fry.
My mother worked in a first-class post office for twenty-five years. I know how bullshit flows downstream onto the front line workers who are not to be blamed. This is another wave of Trumpfuckery that should really have people completely freaked out. Raise hell, people.
So, no, I did not get up from my nest and murder anyone. I got up in the dark burned a bagel and drank some lemonade. Went back to bed and slept until 9:30. Gave the day over to a short burst of housekeeping, some hasty color, then a long swim.
There is still danger in the air.
