Murder on the Dance Floor

 Love is Blind got crazy. 

Spoilers for everything:

If you haven't seen Saltburn, you should, if only to earn the last two minutes of Barry Keoghan dancing naked. It really is iconic. I have not been out dancing since before the PANDEMIC and MY ANXIETY IS HIGH. I mostly don't know how to be in public spaces. I am going out for a Saltburn emo disco. I better not see you there. My fervent hope is that because it has a $10 cover it will be slightly less crowded. I have planned an outfit I hope lives up to the spirit of scandal.

Anyway, back on Love is Blind, I finally figured out these mostly square mostly white people are from North Carolina, which does make those facts make more sense. One of the things I hope to never forget was this guy telling his fiancee that if she "got out of shape" he would tell her to go to the gym. Unsurprisingly, this man did not say yes. I feel like she's going to take him back because she clearly has low self-esteem. I say this as game recognizing game. I would sooner set a man on fire than let him tell me to exercise, though. 

I think pretty frequently about how I couldn't be a politician if someone found this blog, but really I couldn't be a politician probably because I wouldn't commit as many crimes as I claim. I won't even do drugs anymore because of fentanyl. A real politician would have enough campaign funds to get the good clean coke. Sometimes I really think infiltrating politics is the answer, but then I counterpoint with the fact that the Tea Party used to say things like this. The people that support Donald Trump say things like this. Which also kind of supports the idea that this is the way, because both camps have been surprisingly successful. Existence is a hell made by previous generations and I'm curious how I'm contributing to that. 

Probably by eating meat. Definitely by being a complete psycho around Scott's first kid. One child can make all the difference in traumatizing a new generation. 

I've missed Combo Cat all day and it's making me miserable.

The new outside cats are: Old Man Cat, Fluffy Cat, Orange Cat, and Combo Cat. Combo Cat is a combination gray tabby and white cat. She was the one cat of the new cats I felt could definitely be adopted. I briefly had her inside hoping to socialize her after she got sent back to us. I felt like I failed her by assuming she would be accepted by the system. I wanted her to get to be loved inside a safe temperature controlled house. She was just crying and making our permanent inside cats crazy, so I let her (chased her (traumatizing both of us)) out. When she came back I was thrilled because I felt so bad I felt I had to let her back outside. She has seemed less trusting of me than she was before ever since. I'm hoping if I keep feeding them outside, I can coerce them into liking/trusting me like I did Little Gray Cat and they would let me betray them and send them to homes that can keep them safer. But her schedule has been inconsistent and she's the meekest of the outside cats, so the others scare her off. And I haven't been able to feed her all day. I really hate that because it's just not helping with progress, and a couple of times I saw her on the camera just a few minutes after she came, but she left because the bowls were empty. 

My body still hurts from falling over my own pants trying to keep Rhys from coming towards the door. I've been unable to let them out since the time they were injured. Then Old Man Cat and Orange Cat rolled up with big holes in their necks, so I am even more certain it isn't safe enough for the inside cats to go out if they wouldn't stay in our yard. When outside privileges were lost there were many complaints and cats rushing the door as we tried to enter or leave. We had to shoo them off to the other side of the room before leaving and open the door incrementally to slip in for several months. It seemed they'd come to terms with the inside-only lifestyle, but Rhys and Little Gray Cat have been looking at the doors curiously lately, so we're on higher alert. 

I've been thinking lately about how I'm very ill-equipped to live in gratitude. Nothing feels like it will ever be enough. I think I'm like my cats. I don't understand how safe or happy I am. I'm seeking nothing in particular in a big world.