Between Apoplexy and Despair

I can’t find the sweet spot. When I try to take a nap, or actually practice good “sleep hygiene” and go to bed at a reasonable hour, I often find myself lying awake, writhing with fury: I’m angry at the flaccid, supine, spineless members of Congress who have abdicated their constitutional responsibilities, which include holding the executive to account. They cower before their irate constituents, or avoid them altogether, while their mad king and his sycophantic minions destroy our government, pulverize our international reputation, destroy the value of our currency in favor of breathtakingly corrupt crypto deals, insult and demean our long term allies, and gleefully perform sadistic renditions and deportations. They are collaborators in the collapse of the American century and all the ideals we have clung to since 1789.

I’m angry at media who allow Mr. Toasty-Skin-and-Brains to make outrageous statements like “I don’t know” in response to the simple question, “don’t you need to uphold the Constitution?” The interviewer did invoke the Fifth Amendment, which guarantees all persons (not just citizens) due process of law, but didn’t read the presidential oath of office (you know, the one that promises to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution) back to Mr. “I don’t know” and instead let him punt to his lawyers. Those lawyers are so morally bankrupt that they’d probably go into court arguing that the inclusion of the words “to the best of my ability” absolves the Ochre Ogre from constitutional responsibilities, because he doesn’t have any ability to do the best of.

I’m livid that not ONCE have I seen an interviewer challenge bald assertions that someone is a criminal or a gang member or a murderer by reminding the blasphemous-bloviator-who-would-be-pope that simply calling someone a criminal doesn’t make it true–you have to PROVE IT–not to mention that our legal system requires a presumption innocence in the first place. And, our mendacious megalomaniac doesn’t care that a photoshopped image only proves the lengths he’ll go to in support of his lies.

I’m apoplectic that power-hungry hypocrites get away with calling themselves “Christians” when they clearly know nothing about Jesus or his teachings. Next in my queue on Apple TV is “God and Country,” an examination of Christian Nationalism that explains how that movement warps both our system of government and Christianity itself, produced by Rob Reiner. I hope it can help me understand how an administration that announces it will establish a task force to “eliminate anti-Christian bias” allows arresting pastors for praying in the Capitol rotunda, while closing the doors to the press that could have recorded the spectacle.

At this point in my writhing and groaning, I’m exhausted. I collapse into despair, and pull the covers over my head. Which is exactly what the fascist wannabes in the White House and their cowering collaborators want me to do.

So I pray. I ask God to help me find a way to respond to all of this with love. I ask that my meager efforts might make a difference, even if it’s only for one person. Yesterday, I paid for another warehouse club membership because my church’s outreach committee listed soup as one of the items they needed this week to deliver to the food pantry we support. I used my new membership to buy 20 cans of soup, a box of 148 diapers, two boxes of cereal and about a dozen single servings of mandarin oranges.

I also am trying to rededicate myself to one of the original reasons I started this blog: to learn to live free from fear. One of the reasons I haven’t posted in a while is that a few weeks ago, I saw an announcement for a writing competition that seemed like a good match for some of the stories I’ve been telling on this blog over the past eight years or so. I buckled down and rewrote and revised and edited until I’d taken the pieces as far as I could. I filled out the forms and clicked “submit.” It made me very anxious, but at least I took a shot. Three shots, actually: one long form and two short reads worth. I’ll find out if they go anywhere near the end of June. Until then I’ll forget about it.

I’ve joined Substack. I’m trying to decide whether to make it into something. Right now, most of my energy seems directed toward frustration about “what they should have said,” so maybe I’ll call it that. I’ve never been good at “snappy answers to stupid questions” (for any of you who remember MAD Magazine), but there are certain triggers that cause my verbosity to hop a loquacious locomotive on tracks primed with pointing out the obvious.

Until then, I remain,

your frustrated, furious, exhausted, close-to-the-edge,

Ridiculouswoman