Even though right now, we’re in Taurus.

But you get the idea.

If not, here’s a handy vid to guide you!

There are plenty of compilations of right wing media meltdowns over good ol’ Leo out there, but I won’t post one here because I’m too lazy to go find one.

But also because that seems a little too ill-spirited. Don’t get me wrong, I am a-tingle with joy at the panic and despair displayed by the forces of evil at this news, but I guess I am too Canadian to enjoy it too directly.

Turns out I have a schadenfreude limit. Who knew?

But that brings up an interesting subject, namely just how idealistic and “pure” am I? I have been doing a lot of defending Trump voters from baseless left wing bigotry lately, so obviously I am fairly far down the messiah path in my insistence in living by my ideals no matter the social reality I find myself in.

I will live by my beliefs no matter what. I will do so pragmatically and realistically because that’s my nature and because that’s how you get things done in the real world, but I still hold to very high ideals of compassion, understanding, and empathy.

And yet, I feel no guilt at all when I revel in the suffering of those I deem politically execrable. in general, I have never felt any need to pretend to be above that kind of thing, much to the occasional shock of my Aquarius mother.

I’ve always been a good deal more cynical and hot-tempered than her.

Than a lot of people, really. When I get into full on impassioned rant mode, most of my fellow Canadians, even those who agreed with every word I say and those who know me and love me and know that I’m a harmless floof most of the time, will want to take a few steps back from me.

Well, I am pretty big, after all. I just hide it by being a sweetie most of the time.

But lately I have been pondering my impassioned nature and how it has always made me stick out somewhat from my fellow Canadians and I have concluded that it must be my French blood.

I’m half Acadian, after all, and while I was raised Anglo, more or less, I do still have a Gallic streak in my genome and maybe that contributes to my being somewhat more emotive than is usual for Anglo culture.

Or maybe that’s too essentialist and it’s really just that I am kind of insane. I dunno.

But my hidden passionate nature makes me wonder about that French blood and whether it explains why so many top Canadian politicians are from Quebec because their culture allows for the kind of passion and drive that makes for great oratory, even if it just gets you dirty looks at the bar from people trying to watch the game.

Maybe you need to have a fire inside you that lights you up when you speak about what you believe in order to be charismatic in the political sense.

I keep telling myself that I should try to make that kind of video. Me in full on inspiration mode, expressing my beliefs with all my passion and articulacy and maybe actually making some kind of impression on the world.

So far, I’ve been too much of a wimp to do it. I know that such a move would not only mean entering a state of physical activation that I might hurt myself, or worse, say something really regrettable, but it could also mean crossing a line into a world of engagement that the sick part of me still fears.

I am still scared to leave my grotty grotto in case the big bad world out there snatches me up and I can never go run and hide again.

It’s a character flaw flaw that runs very deep, this need to be able to escape at a moment’s notice at all times.

I could call it cowardice but it’s more than that. There is a reason why I am so scared to be stuck in the real world and until I figure out what that is, I am going to keep refusing to stray very far from my tiny little comfort zone.

And I want out.

More after the break.

The raw life

I feel pretty ragged and raw a lot lately.

Like my soul has frostbite. That would track giving how much I have been talking about thawing out for a long time.

It’s not frostbite. It’s freezer burn.

Either way, it’s something that is always there lately. And it’s a major contributor to why I feel scared and desperate sometimes.

Life hurts. That sucks.

But I really don’t mind that much. To drag out an oft used metaphor, it’s like when your hand or foot is waking up after having fallen asleep.

Yeah it’s gonna hurt. Possibly a lot. But you don’t mind because you know that the pain means you’re on the way to feeling a lot better and most importantly you’re going to get your frigging hand or foot back.

There are definitely times when feeling pain beats feeling nothing, and I feel like I am in one of those times right now.

I definitely feel like I am on my way to something really big. Some kind of explosive liberation that will blast away all the ice and snow and dirt and filth and rust and decay that have accumulated inside me over the years and leave me open, exposed, and free, and ready to actually be a part of the world for once.

I just need to overcome the rest of that old fear of the outside world and convince myself that going out to play with the other kids can turn out really great, actually, and that everything I need to heal myself and feel whole again is out there waiting for me, and that there’s no predators waiting to destroy me the moment I let my guard down.

Yeah that means that I have been hiding for no good reason for a very long time. And there is nothing I can do the change that. The past has passed.

But I can do everything possible to stop doing it.

The past has passed but the future is not yet written.

And I am going to change the fucking script.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.