Ruth Bader Ginsburg, 1933-GODDAMMIT.

FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT.

Sorry you didn't want to pack the Supreme Court, Joe Biden, but you're going to pack the motherfucking goddamn Supreme Court.

I apologize. I am being mortifyingly uncouth, my only thought on hearing the news of Ruth Bader Ginsburg's passing at 87 being OH FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. Which I informed the Walmart of in hysterical blasts not at all muffled by my cotton plague mask. This is the bad place.

My only thought being ... no. I said that already. I have no other thoughts. Not appreciations of her as jurist. Not ... FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. And then, like a clear bell cutting through the fog to the ships in my brain, "JOE BIDEN WILL PACK THE SUPREME COURT."

Ruth Bader Ginsburg would understand.

Mitch McConnell will waste no time calling a vote for her replacement by Ted Cruz, Neomi Rao, Ivanka Trump, Vlad the Impaler, Amy Coney Barrett I guess, that is what Jamie tells me as if words have meaning in my stupid brain FUCK.

 Her, Vox tells me, as if I can read that. Maybe you can. Maybe you have eyeballs that can see things and send the image to your brain that is not having a stroke right now.

Mine is having a stroke right now. What is this cocktail my husband has handed me, is it tequila and pineapple juice and lime, it is delicious, I will drink it.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg had a husband, I vaguely recall it being a cute part of the movie about her I did not watch, that he wasn't a fucking schmuck and he liked her even though she was smart and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. That they were nice together. She did exercise a lot too, I read that a million times, and she had so much cancer.

And she tried so hard to hang on, we all knew it, we all knew she was hanging on just for this, she would not take offense at my only thought, my only thought, was I trying to say something?

Fuck.