The Sausage of Discord

My new position does not allow for my free and open expression of ideas. My previous job had a much greater allowance, since it was much farther away from my social network. My social network is centered in Bemidji, Minnesota, but branches out to every corner of the globe. At any given moment I am connected to Colombia, and Colorado, and California and a thousand other places. My friend list is 1,500 people and unlike most people, I actually know all of those people. More often than not we have interacted in the real world, to some degree. But now are so very far apart. In Thailand and Japan and Scotland and just all over the place. When I pull the points of this network taught, towards me, I hug the very planet. In all the wonder and thanks I can muster.

My phone is broken in at least a dozen different ways. I don’t want to bother my aunt about it and it has gotten bad out there. Even the “protective” case is disintegrating. Feeling the device is foreign and broken, like running your tongue over a missing tooth, unable to escape the novelty. The memory of what is missing. I only have two functional pair of pants that I’m rotating around among the general laundry. My office looks like a grenade went off in here and/or that the scene of the blast was then subjected to sustained hurricane force winds for a period of days. And then some lunatic came in to set up their miniatures all over the place.