I don't think there's a doubt in anyone's mind that the past couple of months have been exhausting. I mean, lately life has been draining enough that I've taken to reading in a bathtub that suggests I'm headed less for an evening of studying, so much as for happier endings.
But then, there's something to be said for high grade points that happen over champagne nails and silk bridesmaid robes; a satisfying testament with which I think my husband agrees.
At any rate, the point is that every now and then it's necessary to stop and take care of ourselves. Or maybe it'd be better to not stop at all. Maybe it's going to be these little treats, these little pieces of self care that allow us to gaze unblinkingly into the bleaker areas of our country's future while we continue to fight tooth and nail for our laws, our humanity, and for the dignity that rightfully belongs to every disenfranchised brother and sister on the planet.
But then, there's something to be said for high grade points that happen over champagne nails and silk bridesmaid robes; a satisfying testament with which I think my husband agrees.
At any rate, the point is that every now and then it's necessary to stop and take care of ourselves. Or maybe it'd be better to not stop at all. Maybe it's going to be these little treats, these little pieces of self care that allow us to gaze unblinkingly into the bleaker areas of our country's future while we continue to fight tooth and nail for our laws, our humanity, and for the dignity that rightfully belongs to every disenfranchised brother and sister on the planet.
And I'm sure that at some point in the beginning I whispered to myself that it would be the actions and reactions of fellow private citizens that would end up being the most tiresome.
Why, oh why, though, must we be only three weeks in for this to be proving itself so excruciatingly true?
After four days off, Thursday was my first day back to work, and part of my excitement laid in the fact that I might get to have some political banter with a coworker of mine. While I'm sure we don't align on everything, we cut similar silhouettes in that neither of us care to claim a party, and neither of us is very thrilled with the way the 2016 presidential election has turned out. I'm pretty sure we're both crushing on Michelle Obama, to boot.
Anyways, within minutes of arriving at work, any hope of that casual discussion flew out the window. Instead, she insisted on mounting a very, very high horse in order to speak loudly enough to exclaim, "I am a political science major! I know better than everybody that we're fucked!"
Alright. Perhaps we can meet halfway...
"I'm no optimist, but just think of all the political movement this has already caused. We're proving people can--"
"We're. Fucked."
At this point, the only thing running through my mind is how palpable the irony is that I get more balanced, respectful discourse from my in-laws, who actually voted for Donald Trump.
It's one of those rare opportunities where I use the gap in our ages to level her before going on to say that this isn't the part where we build bridges. This is the part were we lay the foundation on which we'll end up building those bridges in the too near future. Impeachment or not, we're looking at riding on the coattails of courage and intensity in a way that history begs us, "Please don't let any of it happen again."
I have little faith in the prospects of surviving, much less nurturing and thriving off a foundation that's built upon arrogant exclamations that we're all fucked. And while I understand from previous conversations with my coworker that yes, her arrogance truly does run deep, so I also know her to be smart, apologetic, and full of kindness.
At the moment, my plan is to make her up a care package consisting of her favorite periodical and bath products, in the hope it might help as she wades through her personal abyss..
Why, oh why, though, must we be only three weeks in for this to be proving itself so excruciatingly true?
After four days off, Thursday was my first day back to work, and part of my excitement laid in the fact that I might get to have some political banter with a coworker of mine. While I'm sure we don't align on everything, we cut similar silhouettes in that neither of us care to claim a party, and neither of us is very thrilled with the way the 2016 presidential election has turned out. I'm pretty sure we're both crushing on Michelle Obama, to boot.
Anyways, within minutes of arriving at work, any hope of that casual discussion flew out the window. Instead, she insisted on mounting a very, very high horse in order to speak loudly enough to exclaim, "I am a political science major! I know better than everybody that we're fucked!"
Alright. Perhaps we can meet halfway...
"I'm no optimist, but just think of all the political movement this has already caused. We're proving people can--"
"We're. Fucked."
At this point, the only thing running through my mind is how palpable the irony is that I get more balanced, respectful discourse from my in-laws, who actually voted for Donald Trump.
It's one of those rare opportunities where I use the gap in our ages to level her before going on to say that this isn't the part where we build bridges. This is the part were we lay the foundation on which we'll end up building those bridges in the too near future. Impeachment or not, we're looking at riding on the coattails of courage and intensity in a way that history begs us, "Please don't let any of it happen again."
I have little faith in the prospects of surviving, much less nurturing and thriving off a foundation that's built upon arrogant exclamations that we're all fucked. And while I understand from previous conversations with my coworker that yes, her arrogance truly does run deep, so I also know her to be smart, apologetic, and full of kindness.
At the moment, my plan is to make her up a care package consisting of her favorite periodical and bath products, in the hope it might help as she wades through her personal abyss..
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