Notes on Writing About a Congressional Debacle

 Is there any debacle better than a Congressional Debacle?

So many voices and heads and tails and didgeridoos yammering about the latest drama in the House and the laughingstock it is and will soon become. So many know-it-alls and know-nothings chattering away on social media and CNN about the GOP's missing link and what a mess they are and how they're once and for all headed into dead-end canyon to drown and suffer the final ignoble defeat that will finally signal the end of the party of trump and tax cuts and buffoonery performancism. 

Yeah, I just made that last word up. I also made up the part about the end. Not how they're chirping about "the end of the GOP" and whatnot. They've been saying the party's over since 2006. Every time they say that I think a long-lost Bush son somewhere absentmindedly evacuates a growth that will inevitably become a newer, meaner version of Mitt Romney or Rick Santorum or one of the mutants now shrieking themselves to sleep in the Hallowed Halls O' Congress. Kind of like the bells-ring-angels-wings connection, only much, much, darker and far more juvenile (and deadly). 

No. It's definitely not the end. In fact, one has to wonder what the fuss is about at all. The GOP has been promoting the idea of bad and broken government for so long that it's finally come true, in all it's putrescent glory. They've finally (maybe, doubtfully) come face-to-face with the final product/offspring they've so long fought so hard for and now their (predictably) panicking about it. They not only look like fools now; they're actually (sort of) seeing and experiencing how that foolishness manifests itself. And boy oh boy, do they ever NOT want to peel back the glass onion on this one. 

Back to writing, right? This noise about choosing a Speaker and bringing popcorn to a dumpster fire has pulled my attention into the gutter. Now I'm sloshing around in the much trying to pretend all this matters and enjoying the schadenfreude when all it's doing is delaying the inevitable. Which is, unfortunately, more noise and hoopla and destruction and no good for anyone but those perched at the top, alternating between states of mildly amused and moderately annoyed that even more of their money has yet to boomerang back into their pockets. 

But this is the exercise. Keep writing no matter what's on your mind. Build the muscle memory needed to actually chisel out your thoughts and create something somewhat coherent and digestible. And try to avoid that infernal red line chasing EVERYTHING you write and demanding or making unsolicited corrections as you go. It can be a great tool but it's also a major pain in the ass and often very distracting. 

Let me fuck up goddaMNIRT. 

Whatever. I amhap{y (see what I did there, red line?!?) that I suppressed my own awful inclination to NOT drop everything and get some writing in before the end of the day. This puts me officially at three days in a row hammering out jibberish into the magic screen, and strangely enough, I haven't given up and said fuck it or anything. I am still writing. Take that, Karl Marx. 

That said (a phrase I'm REALLY starting to hate), time to fly away and prepare for tomorrow, whatever be in store...

SHalom.  

 

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