Daily

I messaged a woman on fetlife. If you've never heard of fetlife, it's a community for kinky people with handcuffs who want to handcuff others and do horribly sadistic things, and also for people who want to find someone to handcuff them and do horrible things to them.

All safe, sane, and consentually of coarse.

Anyways, I message a woman on fetlife. I tell her how I feel. How I want to engage in things.

Her response? Mostly positive, but amongst her other feelings she also in a first message reply to me, said she feels helpless amongst a vastly different political climate that leaves her feeling like we're in mid 1930s germany.

And she's not wrong. I'm not even argueing her points. I'm just saying it's a very telling sign of the times when a man messages a woman he doesn't know and says "Hey, I'm lonely. If you're lonely too, lets do kinky things together" and her response, while being completely valid, is "THE NAZIS HAVE TAKEN OVER MODERN DAY!!! EVERYTHING IS A DUMPSTER FIRE!!!"

That is where we are today.

I need to talk to more people on fetlife. I rarely adventure outside of the furry community though. Furries just tend to be consistently nicer.
- Isn't there a whole subset of Nazi furs?
- Nice people are the ones you should be most guarded against.
The vibes are incredibly fucked.

What's with all of the fucking Twitter quotes being surrounded by random backgrounds now?

It's nicer than a plain white background, ngl.
- I'd prefer nobody use that service anymore, especially if they feel like this, cause they're contributing to the problem.

My secret is compartmentalization. Whenever one of those thoughts about practically every western countries sprint into facism or our planet swiftly becomming uninhabitable pops up, I just file that thought away in the existential horror box before reattaching the chains holding that box closed and finding a nice quiet mental corner to hide it in.

Plus if there's ever a time where I need a mental breakdown then that box is always there for me, lurking in my brain like an aging bottle of perchloric acid forgotten in a chemistry lab cubbord slowly precipitating highly unstable explosive peroxides.