Why not?

 

Well, shit.

I haven’t been able to write ANYTHING for this blog in a few months.

Not because I don’t want to. Not because my life is any less hilarious and fucked up and infested with teenagers. ‘Cause that is definitely still the case.

Nope. I try. I’ve tried. I have at least 7 drafts in my little WordPress box, pieces that I’ve started and quickly stopped. I tried writing about having my nephew stay with me this summer, who is 16 years old, crazy smart, and high-functioning autistic. When my 18 year old niece stayed shortly after that, I had all sorts of shit going through my head, about being 18, leaving the nest, feeding her Mike’s Hard Lemonade, going away to college. And of course my own kids were full of amazing, brilliant, stupid energy, with the cops being called to a rooftop patio, birth-control (definitely not stupid), and the heart-breaking loss of our bitch-cat, Shakira.

But none of it seemed relevant, good enough.

Not good enough as in”How is this important enough to put out there? Shouldn’t I be focused on the issues that really matter, and not my ridiculous attempt to laugh at life?”.

Do you struggle with this in your daily life? Comparing the pettiness of your own stressful lives to the “real” problems in the world?  I know it’s not just me.

Right this moment I’m having a hard time writing this, right after watching the news, reading a little NPR and Washington Post. Mass Shootings, Hurricanes, Earthquakes, Healthcare, Dreamers. The threats are endless, looming.

So, shouldn’t I be shouting from my computer and my front steps, any platform that I can, about all the bullshit? Instead of recounting my daughter’s ability to spot a teenage boy from 62 miles away, or my son’s huge basketball-computer brain that constantly confuses me? Not that I can fix any of it with words and bitching and caring, but shouldn’t I try?

I don’t fucking know. I can’t get my own family to listen to me, so pretty sure I’m not going to get an audience to put up with me lecturing. And I don’t like preaching to anyone. I’ll always stand up for what I believe and what matters, but I don’t want to be a one-dimensional soapbox.

What’s the point? When 58 people were gunned down just days ago, when Americans are having their rights stripped away at an alarming rate, why do I have any right to write about anything less than injustice and struggle?

I was a part of a few events the last couple of months that showed me why. These events were in support of local non-profits, all very different from each other, but all led by amazing women. These women, who are hilarious and intelligent and community-minded, are not constantly on a soapbox, are not one-dimensional. I saw how their passion produced beauty, art and joy (and most importantly for the non-profit world, money), simply because they care so fucking much. Yes, they gave it their all, but after the event was over, they returned to being mothers and friends and all-around groovy people.

And what they didn’t do is also important. They didn’t stop being human. They didn’t stop drinking Sangria or laughing at inappropriate jokes on patios. They didn’t stop enjoying the life they are fighting for.

So, fuck it.

I’m going to keep this shitshow going, without any expectations. Because we all have the right to protest whatever the fuck we want one minute, then check out at the hot springs with our BFF the next.

And because I have way too many ridiculous happenings stuck in my head that I need to share.

Peace.

 

 

 

 

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3 Responses

  1. Butcherboy says:

    Love to read what is on your mind.

  2. Butcherboy says:

    Love to read what is on your mind.

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