Woke up to the news today, and apparently there were a bunch of attempted bombings. Bombings!
Ugh, this sick feeling, yet again. Terrorism – it’s back in vogue in this country, and all of a sudden I find it hard to leave the house. Even though I should get going to work, so I pop another lexapro and try to set foot out the door. But I can already hear it, the senseless din that will be echoing through my head as we march closer to an election that is feeling more like a death sentence. We’ll talk about voter suppression, we’ll hear reports from the right that this is fake news meant drum up sympathy, we’ll hear about how the president’s rhetoric contributed to this mess, we’ll hear about racism and transphobia and the role of terrorism in our lives.
Man, fuck all this shit. It’s getting hard to differentiate between the headlines I see every morning when I wake up and the movies I watch at night before I go to bed. It’s blurring together, and I’m not sure if taking my anti anxiety medication is dulling me to the pain or if it’s exactly what I need to get through one day at a fucking time.
I realize that I miss being young. Or at least care free, in the sense that global cataclysms could occur, but with youth I still had the idealism of making the world a better place tomorrow, when I get my chance. However, now I’m old enough to live in a world that is in some ways of my own making (or my own unmaking), and, ooh, it does not feel good.
It’s hard to remember what the plan is here, but I’m trying with all my might to avoid the hysteria into which I usually slip myself. I wasn’t prepared for war, or, at least, I wasn’t prepared for this war. I’ll admit: I did not see this coming. I did not plan accordingly. Which is probably why I’m reassessing my plan, trying to figure out, am I doing the right thing to survive this fucking hellscape? It feels like a question that is more than any of us should have to ask. Because who is truly up to the task of answering that question?
I simply don’t have time to answer that question because despite the fact that the world is on fire, I still have to go to work and pay rent. I thought that working and paying rent were enough of a burden – having to do it in a burgeoning fascist regime feels even more pointless and defeating. I live in the most expensive place in the entire country – how am I supposed to find time to fight a fascist regime after a ten hour work day? This shit’s a fucking trap. I feel like my hands are tied by the same demon that is now pulling a plastic bag over my head. How am I supposed to fight.
Or should I just run away? Talk about a wonderful fantasy. It’s a bit self indulgent because, well, what would I do, watch from afar on a beach by some sea while everything and everyone I have ever known falls into fascist oblivion? I honestly don’t think I could stomach that.
This is not what I want to be thinking about as I head out the door to work. This is not my dream.
Also, this is a horrible time to be going through a break up, or, as is my case, finally done going through a break up and feeling good about it. This is not a good time for dating. This era is incredibly unsexy.
And I always find myself wondering: how did we get here? Aren’t we the #OccupyOakland and #BlackLivesMatter generation? Didn’t all that shit start here? Aren’t we the chosen ones? Damn, we were not prepared for this. How is this city so fucking complacent. When are we going to fight back.