This got a little bit political. I really tried to avoid it, but failed. So, before you go any further, please base your decision to continue reading on these two facts: I don’t like DJT or ACB (and I also think that being known by your initials is a right reserved for the truly awesome…talking to you RBG & MJL.
I, and will assume you, feel a general sense of ill ease. All. The.Time. Even when I am not consciously aware, there is no denying it. I am fairly certain that suddenly, out of nowhere, a house from Kansas carrying a beautiful, but troubled, young lady and her dog is going to fall from the sky and land on me, leaving nothing to see but my “I Love My Asshole Kids” socks peeking out from under the structure. I also battle an omnipresent terror that someone in my orbit is going to come down with you-know-what. If you do not know what you-know-what is, I am going to assume you have perished. Hopefully not from you-know-what. Pooh pooh.
I am exhausted in every conceivable way: mentally, emotionally, socially, physically, politically, and spiritually. I have managed to lose brain power, joie de vivre, muscles and desire?/ability? to connect with much of anything other than Words With Friends, crossword puzzles (often at the same time) and whatever book I can scrounge from the Little Free Libraries around town. I’ve read a bunch o’ books which I tear through, enjoy well-enough, and immediately forget. Admittedly, this could be caused by the undeniable fact that I am a woman of a certain age, but I suspect the world around us plays a role, too. Yeah, I am going with that.
I am anxious for (what I have convinced myself is) a good reason: there is pretty much nothing that I can have an at least 75% rate of certainty will be even moderately resemblant of normal. Like, I used to know as a fact that kids would be in school for 6 (glorious) hours a day. Eating in a restaurant was a treat and not a risk (foodborne illness notwithstanding). I used to go somewhere, anywhere and not think twice about the health of other people in my midst. Or, perhaps most germane: I took for granted (clearly!) that we had a sane person running the country, keeping us safe from the boogeyman. But, instead, the actual person running the actual country is the actual boogeyman..
I am freaked out for women. Or people who know or love a woman. Or have ever met a woman. Sure, my childbearing years are a thing of the distant past, but I have 5 nieces and innumerable friends with like-aged kids so, yeah, this is personal. Thirty or so years ago I saw the best bumper sticker than ever before or since: It read: “Against Abortion? Don’t Have One.” I mean, seriously, how hard is that? And, even though I (and others) (many others)have been screaming (that’s hysterical women for ya) for years that “pro-life” and “pro-choice” are competely different arguments, here we are, in 2020, back at it. I am definitely pro-choice, but that doesn’t mean I am anti life, for the love of all that’s holy! And the fact that any person with a vagina or a uterus or, a heart, for crying out loud, would have the audacity to tell any other woman what to do with her body is fucking outrageous. Oh, and to be clear, I am talking to you, Amy CB. Yuk.
While we are on the subject of not engaging in things you don’t like or agree with, I am on the friggin’ roof about the future – not to mention the fact it is even a discussion! – of the many, many, many gay family and friends in my life. When I say that “some of my best friends are gay”, I mean it. So, yeah, if you don’t believe in abortion, don’t have one…and if you don’t believe in gay marriage, don’t marry a gay. Stay single. Sleep around. Become a monk. Get castrated. I don’t give a hoot or holler what you do as long as you don’t drag anyone else – gay, straight, bi, trans, white, black, brown, male, female, human or animal – down with you and your stupid ass mishegas. Geez.
I am dizzy from the speed in which I flip between wanting things to be back to normal, being terrified that things will go back to normal, and wondering what the hell normal even means anymore. I, for one, take some comfort in knowing that it is still verboten to go to certain places. I would love, love, love, to revisit my favorite escape in the world by plopping myself down in a huge movie theater with a even huger Diet Coke, but just cannot…mostly because they are not open. But that’s good, actually because it is not a choice I have to make which, ultimately, makes things easier. (Did you follow that logic?) That which still is a choice cannot be taken lightly. Deciding to go somewhere to do something could prove disastrous. Now, if you make the wrong choice, you might wind up really fucking sick. Or, worse, make someone who you presumably love (or even someone you don’t love but respect that they are as human as you are sick. (Hmmm, think about that for a second, please). Aside: Thanks to the remnants of an otherworldly bout with vertigo which, rudely, I might add, woke me from an otherwise perfectly pleasant sleep, I am not only emotionally, but physically and literally dizzy.
I am profoundly concerned not only for my own kids, but for this entire generation. While they might (or might not) be showing up with their game faces on, it’s safe to say that they are lonely, fearful, anxious, and angry; all while waging a war with themselves by trying desperately to balance their (perceived) invincibility, their (waning) freedoms, and their (highly unpredictable) future. And, despite how darn cute they look, every time I see a little kid with a mask, a piece of my heart breaks. They actually think it is normal. I cannot imagine what their lives will look like. We’re handing them a playbook with half the pages missing and the others dogeared beyond recognition. That’s just not nice.
My goal now is to heed Wynona Judd’s advice; “Make a choice between being bitter and being better.” (Explanation: On my walk this morning, I listened to Andy Cohen – who is singularly responsible for much of my personal joy – interview Wynona. Her call-it-like-she-see-itness is epic. I think I might be in love with her and I know I am going to download her album that is dropping tomorrow.) Anyway, in theory, I am right there with her that better is the way to go. Duh. It clearly serves everybody well. That being said, over these past gazillion months, it has been decidedly easier to go with bitter. Sure, this pandemic likely has, if we were to do the math, an equal number of silver linings as it does excuses to be bitter but, as a glass half empty (not proud, but honest) gal, it is super easy to skew the numbers. Please tell me I am not alone here, peeps. I truly don’t want to be that person, but, well, see above:
Oh, and my new BFF, Wy said this, too:
Stay strongs mamas, papas, kids, gays, straights, pro-lifers and choicers. Be better not bitter, and, for the love of G-d VOTE!
- “I Love My Asshole Kids” socks were a gift to me from one of said kids. I swear.
- Sending tremendous love and pissed off-ness to some of my favorite people on this planet: RR, TM, JL, BN, JH, MW, EP, JK, EM, LN, GB, JS x2, CH, SG, GN and of course, my favorite gay bitch of all, AL. More love still to every parent, grandparent, friend, lover or decent person who loves someone who is gay. Because, who cares if they are gay?
- I tried to find a link to the interview but failed. Otherwise I’d have included it here. Duh.