Something Must Be Wrong

Last week or so, I have felt a greater need to censor myself than normal.

Found out about the UK's new must-be-fucking-kidding-me immigration policy, and tried to say something, but could not.  Even had the words.  They were not nice words, but the only response to shit like that is cursing and fire.  What do I expect from a nation that effectively outlaws photography?  Not this.  Then I remember the rest of their history vis-a-vis the rest of the world and, oh, there it is!

Last night I had anxiety dreams where I kept saying wildly inappropriate things to my friends.  I don't remember what they were.  Knowing the dream, it was something innocuous, like about arugula or something, and then realizing I just crossed some horrible boundary.  The people in my dream were very gracious about it, which made it all the more horrible, and any time I tried to talk about my mistake, I'd end up dreamwise with someone else.

It goes almost without saying that every time I look at something I've written, my eyes cross.  Hell, this is the most verbiage I've managed to wring out of myself since I finished the story with Buer and Ayn Rand Hell.

Which is probably where I am bound, if not the outer darkness.  Oh.  Wait, not mutually exclusive.