There should be a place where a person who usually doesn’t cuss can go and pour invectives out like rain, and the anger and cussiness can get sucked into a vacuum tube and sent to outer space, never to be seen again, except perhaps in a galaxy far, far away. Some people think that place does exist, and it is called the internet, but nothing ever disappears on the internet.
Today I seem to need that place, but can’t bring myself to actually write or say the stream of angry words in my head. So I went for a walk, and cried, and said all the pissy words to the sky, and refused to talk to the person who is irking me. Inside I feel rather Kylo Rennish.
I am very glad that Santa gave me a small bottle of Moscato (187 ml, so too big to take on a plane – do you think they designed them on purpose that way?), and very glad that I don’t have to travel again until mid-January, and very glad that we are back home and away from the place of absurdity that engendered my Kylo Rennishness, and very glad that my husband gave me Seasons 4 and 5 of Downton Abbey, which I have never seen before, and which I am now going to go watch, with a glass of Moscato. I’m already feeling better, just thinking about seeing that castle and all those elegant costumes.
Kylo Rennishness should be a word. Yes, we saw the movie. I thought it was okay. I kept wondering if Daisy Ridley is related to Keira Knightley. And wondering why there is always a platform without a railing, built over a chasm. Haven’t they learned anything about architectural safety in that galaxy?