Skip to main content

Nothing is ok and everything feels wrong

I am unbearably sad right now.

My country is a disaster, those who are leading us are leading us straight to hell, and it feels like there is nothing I can do.

I know "they" want us to feel powerless. If we're weary we give up.

It's hard to think of anything else but the terrible news every moment of every day. I think that's part of what is eroding my will, the constant bad news, the daily tragedies. It's exhausting.

I will endeavor to find something to lighten the mood in an effort to ease the heavy burden of our shared reality.

It may take a while to come up with something though.

I may take several whiles.

There's the story of how my son and I shaved the dog.

That's pretty funny.

Yup. It is.

The punch line is, the dog looks like Olivia Newton John circa 1980, you know, skinny with giant leg warmers. Shaving the dog's legs was tricky, Summer the Amazing Elderly Maltese was over it by the time we got to her limbs, and frankly, I get it. Who could have foreseen just what a big job shaving a 6 lb dog could be?

I think I'm not really telling the story well. I mean, I'm not. But you see, I'm just too worn out. And really. Five journalists in Maryland were shot dead yesterday by another white misogynist domestic terrorist with a gun, ICE is rounding up people to deport, children are being kept in cages, Justice Kennedy is resigning, and I have just read that Kennedy's son was responsible for loaning the trump 1 billion dollars? Is that even possible?

Who gives a fuck about a dog grooming gone wrong?

If it doesn't have to do with fighting the current regime, it's nothing but a distraction.

Everything isn't ok. Nothing is ok.













Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just don't call me Late to Dinner

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg
6 comments
Read more

Thinking about my son, jail, near death experiences, and hoping for the future

It's disconcerting when your 9 year old son asks if there are any jails in town that he could tour. My first thought, naturally enough, was that my son was planning a life of crime and wanted to see where he'd be spending 5-8 years of his life. But then I took comfort in the realization that my son is a dear darling boy who absolutely can not think past this moment. THIS moment. THIS MOMENT. He is the boy who tried to pick up fire, the boy who tried to put the knife in the toaster, the boy who ate his entire chocolate Advent calender in one sitting, never contemplating for a second what would happen next. The look of surprise and hurt after the touching fire thing was heart breaking. He was utterly disconsolate on December 2nd when he found he had no more candy and would have to watch his sister eat her stale misshapen chocolate stockings, stars, and bells, one each morning, for 24 days, in front of his very eyes. He was completely dumbfounded not not just a lit
3 comments
Read more

We're in a horrible mess and I feel like I owe folks an explanation

Hey there friends. In the past, I haven't been shy about talking about my bipolar II, my near constant depression, and anxiety. Writing about my experiences has been a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel I am reveling too much and that I'm embarrassing myself.  Then there are times when people reach out and thank me for being honest about my mental health struggles. Some folks find comfort or solidarity in the stuff I write and that's good, because that's my hope and intention.  I've been mostly silent though about this most recent episode. It's been so dire I felt foolish discussing it much. It just felt too big to be real. I worried that people would think I was being overly dramatic. I have been tempted to dump it all out there like a bag of old garbage, but I though, who needs that. And frankly, at a certain point it felt like who cares, why bother, it's all a load of shit and in the long run, who gives a fuck. At this point though, I feel like I owe
2 comments
Read more