I feel like the things in my brain are things I've said a thousand times; things you're tired of reading about by now.
Things like, there is a moron running the country and 60 million morons put him there.
I'm going to enjoy watching #45 supporters get what they asked for - loss of: jobs, access to affordable healthcare, a safety net.
I'm going to hate watching people who were smart enough to not vote for #45 get what fuckface von clownstick supporters asked for.
Then I remember that I've said things like this before and nobody could possibly give a shit.
Only one person like my FB post about Chelsea Clinton and Claudette Colvin.
I might be reading too much into that, but way more people love and like the stupid fucking memes I post before bed.
That's an indicator of something, I am sure.
I hate working at the libary.
I love the books. The books remind me just why I hate people.
So fucking much James Patterson and Bill O'fuckingreilly.
So little Hemingway.
For every person I introduce to Junot Diaz or Toni Morrison I get a dozen people whining to me that we haven't gotten enough copies of a fucking Bill O'Reilly book about Jesus, or the latest guy-who-always-uses-a-ghost-writer book.
Yesterday we finally received A Farewell to Arms.
A few weeks ago we got The Sun Also Rises.
Still don't have For Whom The Bell Tolls.
I have been pestering to get all three since I was hired. Last July.