It's Mabon, the autumn equinox, and guess which lucky bitch has jury duty? Go on, guess. Grang jury, at that, so I get to hear all about the murders and neglects and rapes and elderly abuse and child abuse and domestic abuse and I fucking hate it. 70 indictments a day, and you get...not the goriest details but bad enough.
But, my trash step brother is apparently a cop again. I don't know if his foray into evangelical extremism simply didn't work out, if it wasn't paying the bills, or what...I literally haven't seen him since he hijacked my dad's memorial service 3½ years ago and turned it into a "Trump is Our God" rally. For those of you (all zero of you!) who haven't kept up, my step-monsters kidnapped my dementia addled stepmom from the hospital, took control over my dad's house, his possessions, his cremains, yada yada. Daddy was Wiccan, and they got wannabe preacher stepbro to deliver a sermon on how Trump was appointed by God and all that jazz.
Long, terrible story, but I ran into that rat at the courthouse. Hehad that deer-in-the-headlights look, but I smiled and said "oh mah gawd hiiiii, how's your mama 'n 'em?" in the sappiest, most southern belle accent I could muster.
If you know, you know.
It's nice to know he failed.
Blessed Mabon, providing abundance and bounty in little, unexpected ways.
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