The Shitshow, Part II? Or...the Nadir! Except that feels like the kind of word that makes people not like you very much because you sound pretentious.

Well, the electoral college did their thing this week, and I don't know what I was expecting anyway.

I had conceived this return-to-blogging as a sort of way to count my blessings out loud, a way to focus on the stuff that won't make me completely foaming-at-the-mouth insane, but this is the darkest time of the year and shit is feeling pretty dark.

SO a couple of weeks ago I sent some winter gear to the folks at Standing Rock. Not much, but something. I walked my dogs a few blocks in the freezing-cold after-bedtime dark. I listened to a tearful nine-year-old who is afraid she and her family will have to go back to Mexico. Threw a few dollars into the Salvation Army bucket at the grocery store. Since not-much-but-something is all I can seem to muster these days, I am going to tell myself over and over that it's working, that it's accumulating, that it's a step into the next day and the next.

We get maybe a minute more daylight today than we did yesterday, and I promise to be in a better mood next time I sit down to write.

channeling Liz Phair

Also, I never intended the name of my blog to be prophetic (more a reference to the absolutely unreal levels of testosterone present in my house at any given moment), but apparently Boyville is still alive and well. While I am happy and privileged to nurture the loud fart festival that is life with my kids (ie, own personal boyville), to the rest of my scary fellow citizens and the smug combover of the patriarchy I say, fuck that shit.
Also, my husband has poured me a venti glass of wine, and if I ever, ever want to actually post any posts I don't have much time to go back and edit. Just so you know where we stand.

The Shitshow

Yes, I wandered off there for a while, not practicing good blog husbandry and whatnot, and now I show up thinking I can just start writing again, till under the weeds and cobwebs and resume my platform. A little predictably, like those relatives who found Jesus after September 11th...actually now that I think about it, it's almost exactly like that, which makes me feel a little squirmy because I might have rolled my eyes at those relatives behind their backs at the time, and now here we are. Because when we suddenly feel like the world is burning down around us, some of us find religion and some of us, apparently, blog.
So that is fair warning. Everything that comes after this is a probably semi-unapologetic attempt to just make myself feel better about this shitshow/dumpster fire/heartbreak/crisis of a faith that holy shit I didn't even know I had until I was watching those electoral votes stack up in real time.
Also, sounds like my friend Eric is going to need some extra reading material here in the near future, so I'm just doing my part.