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My December to Remember 2: Day Three

News: Whistleblower says COVID-19 was engineered in the Wuhan Institute of Virology, funded by U.S., leaked from lab
Apple’s Tim Cook reportedly to move operations out of China after ongoing protests
U.S. out of World Cup

I’m still mad about the Hunter Biden story. It’s simply unbelievable that we’ve allowed ourselves to get here. The corruption is right at the surface and no one knows how to react. It’s out in the open, the traps have been set. And so now what do we do with all of it? Where do we even start?

I know where I’d like to start. I’d like to know just where the hell did everyone get off trying to convince us there was nothing to see here. They did it for years, and I’m sure there’s still people who think that laptop was fake. It wasn’t. It never was. But the media, which is legally allowed to lie to us, just went with it, didn’t verify it, and tried to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes.

Here’s a good compilation that’s bound to make your stomach turn:

I’m just floored by the storytelling we’ve allowed to take place. And it’s not just about the President’s scumbag son. They did it about Wuhan. They did it about Trump-Russia collusion. The Covington kids. Efficacy of vaccines. “Very fine people” or “drink bleach” or Orange Man calling all immigrants “animals” when he was talking about MS-13. Oh, but let’s go back further, too. Operation Fast & Furious. WMDs in Iraq. The CIA running cocaine. Rumsfeld announcing they were unable to locate $2.3T from the Pentagon on September 10th, 2001. Who killed Kennedy. MK Ultra. Back and back and back it all goes, with someone out there telling the official narrative we’re not allowed to question because they’ll ‘cancel’ you if you do.

I mean just look at this headline. The sheer audacity of it all. It was patently not misinformation. They all peddled a blatant lie that it was a Russian plant. And, at the moment, they are facing zero accountability.

Who in the hell handed the reins over to these people to become the scriptwriters for our world?

The writing and rewriting of it all just tells me there’s far greater forces at play here; something designed to tell us there’s nothing to see, to go back to sleep, forget about how shitty everything is and to go about our business until we die. And because of this, it’s becoming harder and harder for me to believe I’m the author controlling my destiny. Because if that’s true, I clearly suck at this.

Give me that pen.

I never script wins for the world. It’s always this weird losing battle. I so badly want things to happen to me but they never do. I’m not ‘writing my own destiny,’ I’m reveling in the scrappiness of it all and therefore winding up with the short end of the stick. I’m a loser and a terrible author and I don’t know how to fix any of it.

It makes me think back to my relationship with my high school boyfriend. We were very much in love, for what it’s worth, to the capacity that a couple of sixteen year olds could be. One time my mother told me that she had a conversation with his mother about our relationship. Apparently we had such a bad fight or disagreement one time that he broke down in the car in front of his mom. I can’t even remember what we could have possibly argued about. The relationship was short-lived and intense for me, as it was my first love. But we broke up, as high school relationship are wont to do. But we still hung out and were still ‘doing stuff’ for a bit.

The last time we were at his house. He wanted me to, ahem, ‘service him,’ and I said I would, but I asked him if he loved me before I did it. “Of course I love you,” he said. I didn’t believe him. But I so badly wanted to keep our love story going that I chose to ignore my gut instinct and did everything anyway. I ended up puking outside his house as we said goodbye; for some reason my body was way too overwhelmed with emotion and I yakked. He told people about it the next day, and it caused a girl who I thought was my friend to tell me I was a fucking psycho and never talk to her again (I later found out she had a crush on him which may have contributed to that).

So what the hell was that all about? What plotlines was I writing for myself to lead me there? And why has it carried on into my adult life to the point where all my stories of the heart are nothing but misfires?

Somewhere down the line I got used to my body betraying me.

If there’s an upside here, at least what I write is honest. That’s more than I can say for the rest of these assholes pretending reality isn’t real. I will never purposefully bend the truth because the tangent I’d create will be far worse than what an honest pen can write. And maybe that’s just what I have to live with, for now. The world may have fallen for all the snarls the evil ones foisted upon us, whether it’s the COVID-19 pandemic, the government controlling our freedoms, or just plain old scripted World Cup matches. But I’ll never fall for it ever again. I’ve learned to trust my intuition because it’s normally right. Even if I don’t pinpoint all the details, I certainly know more than people think I do.

It’s impossible to live a lie. It’ll always come back to haunt you, whether in this life or the next. I know my past few entries have been focused on lies or deceit, but it feels appropriate in this news cycle to do so. Bombs are going off one by one, and I guess I’ve ‘written’ this timeline to make it hurt the most. I hope I don’t carry this mindset with me in to 2023. It would be nice to win one of these days. Struggle can make the man, but it can also break him. And I think I’ve had enough of romanticizing it. I’d rather things come to me effortlessly so the nagging questions become a thing of the past.

Maybe I can do it this time around. I just need a bit longer to feel sorry for myself before writing my own redemption arc. There’s still a lot of pain I’m working through. But that’s why I write about it. To get through it. To spill my guts over and over again hoping for a better outcome. I’ve got to try. I’ve got to want to try. Or else I’ll just be a shitty writer with no story to tell.

Well, at least I can’t be *this* bad.

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