Fuck you, void. 

The worst thing about loss is that it rips away that false sense of security that is integral to leading a somewhat normal life. That naïve sense of immortality we carry with us from childhood, the sense that the summer will never really end. Once that is gone, you are never really the same. Normal does not come back, because the fear that comes with understanding is your new normal. Once you’ve seen that we’re all balanced on the knife’s edge, just a heartbeat away from oblivion, you can’t unsee it. You have to learn to live with it. Despite it. Around it. You have to learn to face it, because facing it takes away its power. 

Fuck you, Void. I’m coming for you. 

Be fucking gentle.

I am moved, once again, by the Expanse (book) series. 

“We’re spending our whole lives together, so we need to be really gentle.” — Nami 

This seems especially poignant with Friday looming. Some are disappointed, and many are scared, and honestly, only the most short-sighted are triumphant. I feel like an observer, having nothing invested in the incoming president, and nothing invested in his predecessor. Both are, in my opinion, narcissistic, power-hungry demagogues who care little who is hurt by their proclamations. Legacy this, agenda that. 

It is always we who suffer. You and me, red and blue and purple. Don’t kid yourself that there are enough politicians who care about you to make a difference. Don’t think for one second that the divisions are not stoked, that we are not manipulated, that it is not all for the benefit of those in power. 

Our overlords don’t care about you. Maybe on the state level, because they might see you at the grocery store, but once they hit the big time, you are nothing to them. We have to care about each other, even if our very spirits resist. We’re spending our whole lives together; we need to be really gentle. 

You and I are the only ones who can change things, and to do so we’re going to have to stop indulging in hate and grudges and start to find some commonality, however superficial. We need to build real relationships with people who don’t think like us and try to engage without hurting. Acceptance doesn’t mean approval, and being gentle does not weaken. Remember what you believe and why, and then listen to someone else. 

If we learn to stop being such prideful assholes, we might actually change our trajectory. 

I’m not holding my breath.

Feelings about things.

Full disclosure: I neither watched nor cared about whatever awards show was last night. While it’s super fun watching privileged people congratulate themselves on being privileged, I had a bunch of sick kids and no nanny. Apparently, Meryl Streep is super brave for calling out Donald Trump without actually naming him – right? I am being honest and completely (like, 95%) non-snarky when I wonder aloud how that is brave. I mean, that’s just being passive aggressive. That’s kind of being the opposite of brave. And she’s being inconsistent. She never said anything about Obama’s admin targeting and snooping on journalists. That actually, not hypothetically, happened. 

Look, I don’t care about Meryl Streep because I feel that lionizing actors for anything other than their talent – and Meryl Streep is phenomenal at pretending to be other people – is a fool’s errand. I think it’s super that she has feelings about things and makes speeches about stuff, but I don’t really care what those feelings are. She doesn’t care about my feelings on things. We’re good, Meryl and me. I loved Death Becomes Her. But it’s not brave to be passive-aggressive, especially if you think Trump is the tyrant he’s projected to be. (All the computer models say so.) 

I will most likely forget about the speech I read that Meryl Streep made (but didn’t have the desire to actually watch) by tomorrow. I feel like that’s what we should do with unwanted opinions.

there are too many sorrows

in the space of twelve months to list. Politically, culturally, and personally this year has burned so many of us to the ground. Children die in Syria, collateral damage in a war of – what is it? I don’t even know. There are no good guys on either side there. ISIS is busily and happily destroying everything it touches, dismembering, glutting itself on pain and blood. 

And our cultural losses are not insignificant. Bowie was my lifeline in a very dark place. His music promised me that there was beauty left in the world, and that I might find it again one day. And Princess Leia was the hero of 5 year old Me, a princess who kicked ass and dropped one liners like a pro. An intergalactic Oriana Fallaci. A rebel. 

We are shaped by everything around us, and the loss of so many icons is exhausting. There are no promises that the end of this year will bring relief. But we can hope. 

There’s always hope. 

i keep saying 

that I’ll write something later. Tomorrow. Promise. But later never comes. I’ve got to get in this habit again. 

I have already resolved that I will not write about politics again. I just can’t do that any more. I don’t believe what I once did in the way that I once did, and I am still coming to terms with that. Without the political, however, I’m not quite sure what to write about. Beauty? Fashion? Movies? TV? None of those seem right. Books –  yes. Philosophy? Sure. Music? Probably. 

Whatever. I’ll figure it out as I go. I mean, I’m just making this shit up as I go along.