Friday, June 5, 2020

Losing Hope

I don't dream of women every night.  I don't remember dreaming of one last night.  But I did wake up at three filled with horror and the most dire thoughts about my life, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.  I have never really had anxiety or depression before, and I have always secretly thought them to be a personal weakness.  "C'mon, man, just think differently.  Change your routine.  Get out and do something."

Things of that sort.

I'm finding, however, that when this shit gets hold of you, you can't move.  You can't breathe.  There is no way to just "change your mind."

But as I've said, life is personal, and you never know what you don't know until you know it.

I read an article a few minutes ago that may be speaking of me (link).  The pandemic is just one small part of my stressed situation.  I've been taken from a wonderful life and locked in a dungeon, and I have found I am not as strong as I thought.

Telling you about it helps, so don't make faces.  I don't have anywhere else to say this shit, and right now I am incapable of turning it into art.  All I have are these plain, dumb statements that land with a thud like a potato falling to the floor.


The walking, though, has apparently have been fruitful.  I downloaded pictures from about three weeks worth of walking, maybe more, and found some images that I really like.  People-less pictures of my corona world.  This is one that I will somehow work into a series of four.  You will see the rest in the upcoming days.  They look good together.  I have made some progress in looking at non-human things.  Shapes and forms and colors are making a little more sense.  I used to be able to do it decades ago.  Maybe I'll find the magic again.

There was an op-ed in today's NY Times that I really liked (link).  My old saw, "Liberals lie," is what attracts me to this piece.  It reminds me of the liberals at the factory that always wanted to share something they saw about the black community or black art or black theater with black colleagues.  "Have you seen it?  Oh my god, it was soooo moving.  I'm taking all my friends to see it."

Of course, they meant their white friends.  Maybe afterwards, they would all go to a soul kitchen for dinner, too.  Mama Lo's serves the best pork and greens and sweet potato pie.  Mm, mm.

I'm not saying you shouldn't do these things if they mean something to you.  You just don't have to go and prove it to your black colleagues.  Your black friends already know you are on their side or they wouldn't be your friends.

You should just do these things because you believe they are the right things to do.  You don't get a Boy or Girl Scout badge for doing them.

I think I've always done the right things privately and the wrong things publicly.  Some of my friends like C.C. and Q have and do as well.  It is probably an affliction or a curse, or it may be genetic, but as C.C. says, we are living on the Island of Broken Toys.  We can never do exactly what is expected.


And then there are the Trumps of the world who never do the right thing in private or public.  I mean, Trump's no liberal, and he lies.

In the end, I guess, there is just something horribly wrong with humans.  At a certain age, you start to lose your idealistic hopefulness, and all that is left is the ideal.

I am afraid I'm losing hope.

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