COVID: THE GREAT RESET / DOCTOR MIEKE MOSMULLER

 

GOBLIN MODE

Slobbing out and giving up: why are so many people going ‘goblin mode’?

 

 Illustration: Esme Blegvad/The Guardian

Yes, the Guardian got it right; we are f...ed off and tired and disillusioned, at least some of us. We don't see why we should be keeping appearances anymore, and to some of us, it has also come to the realization the world is nothing like we thought it was, and we want nothing to do it with it - or as little as physically possible -.
 Said that, I have been trying to de-goblin myself lately, mainly because other people's sanity depends a little on mine, so I cannot just let go even if that made me happy. Coming back to life, to this life, it's nothing short of a challenge. Long gone are the days I would get up from bed at 5.00 am to do yoga and write, with a smile on my face. When I am not working, I can barely make it out of bed before 10.00. Sad, I know. And while I am trying to improve, I am not even prepared to promise it will get better. A veil has been taken off my eyes, and what I see horrifies me and makes me scared, and depressed and tired and wanting to remain horizontal. 

But try I must because there is one thing - one person - nothing short of a miracle out there: her. And if there is one, there are many, and if there are many, there is hope, and if there is hope, life can be magical despite all the rest. As long as they let the Sun shine as well - they are planning not to, by the way, but that's another story bladibladiblah -

Anyway. Good morning (at 13:29) of a sunny afternoon off in GoblinLand. Today I was supposed to see some friends but couldn't be 'arsed'. Luckily for my ADHD and crippling depression- or sadly -, the builders turned up without an appointment to fix something, which is always a joy as it lets me stay in my cave one more day.
Happy De-goblin, humanoids

RUST

  

 

 

The metal skeletons raised broken but proud all the way up to the sky it seemed, high high, rusty and golden and bright as the dying sun bathed their faces with light.
The girl looked up. Any other day she would have been scared of them, those giants that sailed the sea once and now died on land. But not today, there was something far scarier to fear today, and he was near.
She listened up but couldn't hear. There was no noise other than the seagulls and the soft wind in her ears. She shivered. There had been no time to grab a jumper, no time for anything really, but running. Her heart was still running; she feared even if she made it out of here, her heart would never stop racing.

She had heard of moments like this one, last moments, moments in which the dying life passes in front of one's eyes like a movie— of course, she had—but she had never been this close to one of them. So this was it, wasn't it? She would take her last breath here, within the immense sleeping liners. 

His rushed steps on the gravel drew closer. She climbed the rusty stairs, flying towards the deck, nearly missing the dark hole on the floor. That might have ended things quickly. Maybe she had time to run back and fall, just fall, break her neck. A moment of vertigo and then ... nothing, no pain. But what did this monster have prepared for her? Nothing that easy for sure; he was the monster the news always talked about. He butchered others. The girl shivered.

He was getting closer, the echo of his footsteps vibrating on the metal ; he was on the stairs now; he'd followed her. The girl dropped to the floor, cowering in the shadows of the big copper wall. A ghost in the Titanic, she thought. A ghost already. The stench of rust in her nose, like blood it smell. Her blood would smell just like that, on the ship, on his clothes, on her hair soon.

He was running now.
She closed her eyes, pressing her hands against her ears, shivering with cold and fear. Please, please help me, she cried to the ships, to the sun, to the rust and the seagulls and the grass. And then— they helped. The next step never came, and in its place, a swooshing sound, a swear-word in a foreign tongue, silence and a thud.

THE TENDER BAR

 

 

 I didn't quite enjoy Clooney as a director until this morning when I watched The Tender Bar while breakfasting French toasts. The French toasts were meh - I keep on trying - but the movie was good. Naturally, I enjoy most films about writers, especially when inspired in real life, but The Tender Bar was good; Not fireworks-and-gasps good but the gentle oh-my-god-I-am-every-character-but-the-coolest good; the I-can-make-it good.
The biggest surprise? Ben Affleck. It is the second time in a week I realise what a good actor this man is.

Without giving too much away, I rooted for every character but one and believed them all. And my God, Affleck played my actual uncle C or the way I saw him growing up by his side. Shame I wasn't a boy, so C could have taught me The Male Sciences, but I did have my dad, who told me to read a whole world of books and adored my mum. I guess that's why my early life wouldn't have made a compelling movie.

Happy writing, reading, and movie watching fellow humanoids.

THE TRUTH IS COMING OUT - RUSSEL BRAND

 😆

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