It is time for our cockroach era, to "be unkillable. Like the noble trash lobster." I've been sitting on this article by Geraldine DeRuiter for an least a month, going back to it in Wallabag and re-reading, finding what resonated with me. I scrolled to the bottom of my Wallabag list today and remembered I wanted to share it.

It is time to be in cockroach mode. To keep going, by whatever means possible. When someone tries to stamp you out, avoid them with a swiftness and a scurry that will haunt their dreams. They think your existence is a scourge? Then the best way to spite them is to keep existing. People will tell you “You just need to get through four more years.” This is laughable, and incorrect. Fascism doesn’t last four years. But also: cockroaches have existed for 300 million years. They do not put a time limit on how long they need to survive, nor should you. If asked, the answer should be “As long as possible” and “Up to two weeks without my head.”

It's some good advice, but also so beautifully and funnily written that I don't mind the idea of having my turn in a Kafka novel.

My request is a selfish one, and I guess that’s what I’m doing to get by: telling you how badly I need you here, with me. That I need you to survive, by any means possible because I would be so, so fucking lost without you. That you make the world better by your presence. That your mere existence is an act of defiance. That you, my sweet beautiful, broken-hearted weirdo, are a goddamn triumph.

Let's sally forth, my fellow bugs, and survive.