So, it’s been an incredibly stressful couple of weeks. Like, holy shit the stress. Not just for me, but for millions and millions of Americans.
Friday was terrible.
Saturday was much much better.
The days since have provided blow after blow of HOLY SHIT and WTactualF galore.
Banging your head against the wall won’t do anything other than give you a concussion, but it sure feels like you’re doing that when you make phone calls to people you know aren’t going to listen. Because they believe in the cause. They don’t care what you think. They will back whatever decisions are made just because it gives them more power/money/both. The concussion almost sounds preferable to speaking to these people.
So, what do we do in the meantime?
Well, as a writer, I write. Or I try. I have to force the words out lately, and I know I’m not the only one.
There’s also reading. Not just fiction, but non-fiction about the past atrocities and the people that stood up or even just survived. Of course, we’re so close to an Orwellian existence, it’s hard not to recommend him. Or Margaret Atwood. Or or or… So many options and all too close to reality.
There are also other forms of art. Buy one of those adult coloring books. (I love the mandala ones.) Or try creating a collage. I don’t know. You do what you have to do to help. Because if you don’t help yourself, you can’t help anyone else.
So, art. Read. Watch TV. Stare at a flower, whatever it takes.
Recharge, and start again.