I just wasted my morning writing a diatribe about parents and parenting that showed how vile I have really become. No need for that. It is abundantly apparent.
I could write about the Trump Era, but I am sick of that, too.
I have not been able to say much of anything without causing myself trouble for a long while now. Even when I say nothing, I am accused of being hostile. I have tried "unpacking" my silence, all the possible meanings of it. It is deep and complex. I'll give them that.
I have absented myself from the factory as much as possible lately in order to keep my job. What wants to come from my lips is combative.
I long for an easy plateau as the song goes. Just some peace.
I'm finding joy in reading again, though, where disturbed minds of all generations get together for a thoughtfully pleasant time.
Resources are getting tight and the population grows. This is the classic formula for competition, and not the sporting kind. We are on the brink. The streets will explode this summer. It could be worse than that.
There will be deadly weather this summer on the streets where the woman and baby in this photograph live. There are reasons for putting bars on windows.
I am going to take up meaningful meditation in an effort to achieve peace. This is not the simple "mindfulness" that is so popular now with the adult coloring book crowd. Maybe I should take up coloring, though. Making pictures and not making pictures is stressing me out.
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