maybe 2020




[blackout poem, text reads:

notice 

confusion 
complicated 
challenging]

_________________

really, I'm ready for 2017 to be over already. 

yes, we've probably all had our personal good times, but damn. the collective bad times account is WAY the fuck overdrawn right now. I mean, way the fuck. 

I think we're all feeling done right now. 

and fuck. I hate to negate my own damn advice from a few days ago, but at the moment, I'm not really feeling too hopeful about 2018. (despite it being '18, the chai/life number.)

but maybe, just maybe we can get our collective asses together and reshape the world into what it needs to be in order to become a better world. 

by 2019? 2020? oh, it feels so far away.

(the hubris of youth, that one even thinks there's a possibility it'll get better eventually. I'm still 42. this was meant to be my life, the universe and everything year, dammit. instead I get an anxiety, twitter war and fire storms kind of year. fun. fucking. times.)

((ugh))