Der Feuervogel aufersteht.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

With the entire Tr*mp administration coming down with covid, all I can do is cackle with malicious glee and eat a slice of schadenfreude pie. (Note: I do not actually have any of this, so I had a piece of apple-pear pie that my hosts baked.)

What I worry about, or who, rather, are the people at the edges of the administration, who didn't ask to be exposed to the virus or to work for these assholes: White House cleaning staff, journalists, the Secret Service (who, yes, did sign up for the job of throwing themselves in front of a bullet for the president, but not for him committing essentially manslaughter on them himself), congresspeople and their families. We all know the cleaning staff isn't going to get whisked off to Walter Reed in a helicopter and be given experimental drugs under "compassionate use."

This entire administration is exactly as bad and corrupt as we warned it would be in 2015 and 2016. The only thing we didn't predict was a global pandemic making everything even worse.

I'm back in my home state for the foreseeable future. My friend and VP classmate Beth T. offered me her guest room, where I am currently camped out with almost all of my things still in suitcases or plastic totes. That doesn't include the plastic totes currently in my sister's storage unit or the winter clothes/blankets/etc that wouldn't fit in my car so are still in Georgia. And whatever remains still at Ben's house.

I applied for an MA in older German literature (i.e. medieval lit) at the Freie Uni in Berlin, and I'm waiting very anxiously for the decision. Because of the rona, the application deadline was extended to 8/20 (from the usual early June), and their site says we should expect the decision in early September.

Of course, I'll have to take a language test (and get the highest score, yikes, ya girl needs to study again), and this test is only offered twice a year. Naturally, the next date is September 2, which, uh, I can't exactly make, being still in this stupid plague nation, and without the proof of admission to the university, I won't be able to get in. And I won't hear if I was accepted until ... after this date.

So my anxiety brain is running around in circles because this dilemma is basically unsolvable, and, thankfully, my prozac is still working because I can tell it to stfu because it's unproductive. Anxiety-me would have emailed the language center by now, asking in a very rambly, anxiety-filled way how I can resolve this problem in the event that I'm accepted. Sane-me says it won't matter until I know if I was accepted, so we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Srsly, this whole being medicated for anxiety thing is pretty fuckin great. I spent the first 40-odd years of my life with pretty severe anxiety that I never knew about (or didn't know wasn't "normal"). I still get anxious about things, but I don't go on the spiral anymore.

Anyway, if I get in, I'll be going over probably early October for a semester start 11/2. If I don't, well, I'll be stuck in this plague nation until we get our collective shit together.