from Sweetest Chill/Siouxsie and the Banshees.
I feel guilty when I write about anything that isn’t Fuck Ice or Fuck Trump or anything that doesn’t contribute to getting the rancid orange boot off our necks. I have started this several times and given up.
What is going on in my own little life seems so unimportant when compared to the insane evil that MAGA has done to the United States. I start to write an essay or a poem or a recounting of the things that have changed and happened. It is like I’m mentally constipated by politics.
And I feel I must say yes- I will vote against fascism. Yes I have been to protests. Yes I have written letters and made phone calls. It isn’t enough. I don’t have enough to give. I’m just getting through work days as I stumble toward retirement. I’m lucky it can be early but honestly I’ve been in IT since 1995 and I’m tired of it. Proving myself in IT has been something important to me since I was told I wasn’t smart enough for it, or that I shouldn’t bother because I won’t get far. But I did, several times over. And I’m proud of that, but I can’t keep striving.
I used to love the newest latest thing, some cool puzzle to understand, A new language to learn. But my brain is full. I’ve learned all of that I can for this lifetime. I want to volunteer for political causes, read to kiddos in elementary school and socialize cats. I want to take walks and re learn my ukelele. I want to sit in the back yard of our new abode that I got to design the paint scheme for (Dark Academia anyone?) and read.
I don’t want to answer questions or help rude people anymore. I don’t want to be treated like barely human–which is what happens when you are on the front lines. Which even though I’ve been promoted, still happens.
And my workplace is all messed up right now. I’ve had the privilege to work with the best team ever. It’s been like having a bunch of brothers. Snarky, hilarous, sweet brothers who make sure I get enough cat gifs through out the day. But with layoffs looming and other things that I should know better than to talk about (maybe when I retire? would that be kosher? Could I quit bottling it up then?) and layoffs that have already happened–it is like whistling through a graveyard right now. Which you really shouldn’t do, but sometimes you have to in order to keep going.
We moved to a smaller place so our kiddo can live with her fiancee in our old place. While they decide if they want to keep it or we sell it and help them get a smaller place. She’s got some serious health challenges but she keeps persevering, fiercely. Most folks with the things going on that she has don’t make it through college, but she is determined. And I’m so proud of her. She’s so close now. We are immeasurably lucky we have this ability. So much so I hesitate to talk about it.
I really really love this little house. It is what I dreamed of in nearly every way. And the ways it isn’t are small and don’t matter. Nobody gets 100% of everything they want, ever. That is just life.
Moving when you are old and stubborn enough to move everything but the furniture yourself is really difficult. I do not recommend
We have a very sick cat man. He’s only 8 and has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. And I can’t say anything else right now because I don’t want to cry.
For the first time in 26 years we may not make Halloween our usual Halloween extravaganza. It’s the best part of being an old goth. But it’s been so much these last few months. And it is hard to exhale enough until the midterms are through. So we’ll know whether it’s civil war or checks and balances – so many of us are just holding our breath to see if the billionaires will really continue to control everything and our lives or if there is a metaphorical guillotine waiting for them.
I’m thinking of doing the Writer’s Digest poetry chapbook challenge in November. Is that crazy? I used to write a lot of poetry, and published a few. I keep stopping myself though. Maybe I won’t this time. Oh and I’m going to crosspost to substack. How is that for balls? or ovaries-?
How do write in these times about your own little life when people are being shot in the streets? It seems wrong. It probably is.