On Freedom (and truth)

I talked to my brother last week. We don’t talk that often, but we stay in touch via text and the occasional phone call. This phone call was about plans for my mom’s next visit here, but we ended up briefly discussing the election. “It doesn’t matter who’s president,” my brother said. “They’re all the same. Two wings on the same bird. That’s why we have the eagle as the national symbol.” 

My gosh, right? I restrained the urge to call him an idiot, because he’s not an idiot. He is a smart person who, like the rest of us, occasionally says idiotic things. This was one of the most idiotic things I’d ever heard. 

I could tell by his tone that this was his final word on the subject, so I just told him that I think he’s wrong and then changed the subject back to the original reason for his call. I’m sure that he hung up shaking his head and thinking that his sister is an idiot. It would not be the first time. 

*****

“‘Everything is shit.’ Cynicism about the system slips into nihilism that serves the system.” 

This is Timothy Snyder, in On Freedom. I wrote very briefly about this book in an earlier post, but I have a lot more to say about it. Snyder has the perfect word for my brother’s attitude, which many people share. The word is “notalitarianism.” While “totalitarianism claims to have the one truth that unites everything,” Snyder explains, “notalitarianism denies any truth or values…Notalitarianism is seductively snide. Believing in nothing is presented as intelligence.” Exactly. Every “it doesn’t matter, they’re all the same, voting is the opiate of the masses” cynic I’ve ever met is convinced that they are just too smart to fall for anyone’s propaganda. These are the same people who use the word “sheeple,” who say things like “Open your eyes,” and “Are you awake yet?” 

*****

Snyder understands that a reasonable standard of living is a prerequisite of freedom. People can’t be free if they don’t have a decent roof over their heads, nor any way to provide for their basic needs, nor any way to take care of themselves when they get sick. But that doesn’t mean that money necessarily confers freedom - it can only make it possible to eliminate the conditions that obstruct freedom. I thought about this as I watched “Black Doves” on Netflix, with its inconceivably rich villains who live in bunkers and spend all of their money and time and energy escaping justice, avoiding assassins, and protecting their ill-gotten wealth. I thought about it when I read yet another story about the crazy dude who spends $2 million a year and pretty much all of his time trying to live forever. Snyder argues, correctly, that immortality is the last thing a person should want, because it makes life meaningless: “Forever is the wrong time scale. Freedom requires a sense of time that extends into the future, through one life and into the next generation or two…” The world is full of rich people who are nowhere near free. 

Maybe because they completely lack any understanding of freedom, many of these same rich people reject the very idea that people have a God-given right to a decent life, and that freedom is impossible without food and shelter and education and healthcare. They oppose social safety nets and welfare state programs because they claim to want to break the cycle of “dependency,” as if any one of us was not dependent on the entire rest of the human race. They perpetuate the lies of trickle-down economics, the unfettered free market (Timothy Snyder points out that only humans, not markets, can be free), deregulation, tax cuts – and our economic system grows more and more unfair, and the inequality becomes worse and more unsustainable all the time. 

*****

Solidarity, as Snyder points out, is the key to real freedom, because a fair and just and decent and more equal economic system benefits all of us and makes us all equally free. Redistribution is good. But with such a vast divide between the very rich, who are growing more and more powerful; and the rest of us, solidarity becomes less and less possible. If you are a middle-class person - even upper middle class - then you have no solidarity with Elon Musk or Vivek Ramaswamy or Mark Zuckerberg or any other greedy grasping billionaire, no matter what they tell you. Your solidarity is - or should be - with the people who pick up your trash, and harvest your produce, and generally do the work that makes life possible for the rest of us.

I don’t know, really, why this isn’t obvious, but it isn’t to a lot of people, who think that their natural alliance is with the rich and powerful. This is an aspirational delusion - if I align myself with the oligarchs, then they’ll see me as one of them, as part of their club, and then I’ll actually be part of their club. It’s shocking to me that working and middle class people still vote for and support deregulation and so-called “free market” policies that only benefit the richest and that have only ever benefited the richest. Snyder puts it best: “The notion that freedom is state inaction makes sense only for the tiny minority who can protect their families without a representative government.” Donald Trump and Elon Musk will be just fine no matter what happens, and they don’t care at all about the rest of us. 

Actually, it’s more than that they don’t care. They absolutely want to restore early Industrial Revolution pre-Progressive Era conditions. They want a tiny handful of people to have all the power and all the money, and they want the rest of us to work 80 hours a week for as little as they can get away with paying us. And they’re not going to give us anything in return, other than the bare subsistence minimum. At least the early 20th century robber barons had a tiny bit of conscience. They used some of their ill-gotten wealth to build parks and universities and hospitals. Andrew Carnegie was a rapacious capitalist but at least he left us some nice museums and libraries and concert halls. The new ruling class billionaires want the noblesse but not the oblige. They want the Gilded Age without any of the gilding. 

*****

It’s all pretty bleak, really. It’s December 20, and I should be in a holiday mood. Maybe tomorrow - my son comes home this weekend, and it’s also cookie weekend. I hate making cookies, but I like eating them, and I like watching the people I love eat them. But the only thing I’m thinking about now is that we are once again on the brink of a government shutdown and I once again have no idea if I’ll be working beyond today. I was going to take most of next week off anyway, but that’s not the point. The point is that a bunch of billionaire cartoon villains are running the country, and half of my fellow Americans voted for them. Oh, I know that Trump voters think that they didn’t vote for Elon Musk but they did. And if the government does shut down, Elon and his assistant Donald Trump and all of their little Republican henchmen in the House of Representatives will look right at the TV cameras and blame the Democrats, and people will believe them even though all you have to do is look at Mike Johnson’s smarmy little insincere smile to know that he doesn’t believe the words that are coming out of his own mouth. I’ll turn it over to Dr. Snyder once again: “Let the liars lie and the truth perish…Let the world end with a smirk.” 

*****

I love quoting “The Princess Bride.” What’s more fun than shaking your head at a kid who tells  you “I’m starving,” and saying “You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” What’s more fun than showing up at an event and writing “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die” on the little name labels, right below the word “HELLO.” But my favorite Princess Bride quote is this: “I’ll tell you the truth. It’s up to you to live with it.” Timothy Snyder and Heather Cox Richarson and Sherilynn Ifill and Robert Reich and Eddie Glaude Jr and lots of others are out here telling the truth. And we might have to live with it but that doesn’t mean we have to accept it. We can’t stop the liars from lying, but we don’t have to let the truth perish. 

Christmas time in the city

It’s December 15 now. 10 in the morning, 35 degrees, gray and still and peaceful. It looks like snow. It feels like Christmas. 

We rode the Metro downtown last night, Red Line from Glenmont to Judiciary Square, which is a much better Metro stop than Gallery Place if you’re going to the Capitals game, as we were. That’s an insider tip from me to you. The Metro runs mostly above ground until Union Station, and the neighborhoods around the stations are lively hubs of apartment buildings and restaurants and bars and stores. Catholic University and Gallaudet University are along the route. Every time I take the Red Line to Judiciary, I think about selling my house after I retire, and then moving to a cute little city apartment right on the Red Line. Maybe I will. Anything can happen. 

We got on the train about about 5:30 last night, so it was already dark and quite cold. The sky was clear, and Christmas lights and Christmas trees sparkled in apartment windows. It’s the first time this year that I felt really Christmassy. We couldn’t get a seat at our beloved Irish Channel, so we had a quick dinner at the noodle and sushi place next door, and that was an excellent decision. The tiny restaurant with its decor of vintage album covers and twinkle lights was full of lovely young people on their way out for the evening, some on their way to the Capitals game, and the food was delicious. The Capitals won - again - and we ran for the train at Judiciary, crossing the platform after the station manager directed us to the wrong side. I guess we looked like Shady Grove people. The trains were single tracking after a terrible pedestrian strike at Gallery Place and that might have been the last train out of Judiciary before the real delays began. 

According to Metro, the woman who was struck was a “trespasser.” I’m not sure what that means - was she hiding out in a tunnel? She survived but is badly injured. I hope she’ll be OK. I hope the train operators will be OK. How dreadful for a train operator to hit someone, even if it wasn’t their fault. 

It’s Monday now. I couldn’t find any updates on the person’s condition this morning. I hope this means that she is recovering.

*****

I might have finished my Christmas shopping. I have a list, of course, because I have a list for everything, but I have not yet checked it twice. On Saturday, I was on my way to Barnes and Noble to get a few additional small gifts, and I was greeted by a horrifying sight.  A huge gaggle of vultures (I don’t know if gaggle is the right word for a gang of vultures but it’s onomatopoeic, because they make me gag) was feasting on the carcass of a deer. Vile. Utterly repulsive. The next day, the carcass was almost picked clean. It’s gone this morning, thankfully. Whatever I pay in tax dollars to Montgomery County and the state of Maryland, it’s worth it because when there’s a rotting carcass in your front yard or on your street, you can call someone, and they’ll come and take it away. 10/10. Would recommend - the efficient local government, that is, not the rotting carcass and definitely not the filthy vultures. 

*****

Still no update on the Metro accident victim. I’m sorry for her and I hope she’ll survive and recover, but I’m more sorry for the driver who hit her. I keep thinking about how traumatic that must be. 

I’m not sorry for that stupid deer, though, because we’re overrun with the silly creatures, and between unleashed pit bulls and deer gangs and acrobatic raccoons hanging on our bird feeders and disgusting vultures, I have just about had it with the wildlife in this neighborhood. I’ve managed to avoid suburban bears and coyotes, but it’s only a matter of time. 

*****

Christmas Eve is one week from today. I did forget one person, and now I have to figure out what to get for that person, and when I’ll have time to shop. Almost all of my other gifts are wrapped now, but it’s cookie time, too. And I have a lot of other things to do this week, too. And so I’m sitting here and writing about it all, because that’s always the best way to get things done. 

*****

It’s December 18, and the countdown has begun, and it’s time to finish this silly thing before it goes (completely) off the rails. Too late, I know. Less than one week from today, the getting ready for Christmas part of this timeline concludes, and the celebrating of Christmas part begins. Anything that isn’t done by about noon on December 24 just isn’t going to be done, and it’ll all be fine. It’s Christmas time in the city, and the suburbs, and the country, where all of the furry creatures should be spending their holidays. Merry Christmas. 

Early in the (December) morning

I'm not sure how I forgot to mention this in my Thanksgiving weekend dispatch but I finally broke my previous all time Wordle streak last weekend. I lost my last streak at 103, and it wasn't even because I lost a game. It was because I had forgotten to play. My new streak is 109, and my win percentage is 99%. I'm going for 200 and I don't even care if mentioning the streak is a jinx. The Wordle streak is a pretty low priority for me right now given the state of the world. But it's still nice to have.

*****

Like every other parent, I get nostalgic around the holidays. Ten years ago, I was nostalgic for little kid Christmas. Now I'm nostalgic for high school Christmas and December band concerts and winter swim meets on freezing cold days. At least we still have the swim meets. 

I'm writing this on my phone in my car. My youngest son is coming home to pick up his car and I'm waiting for his Metro train to arrive at Glenmont. I used to do a lot of writing in various parking lots at various aquatic centers and ball fields. Nostalgic.

*****

We have had a week of very cold and Christmassy weather, mostly bright and sunny but a few moments of leaden gray looks-like -snow skies. But it didn’t snow, at least not here, at least not yet. And I knew it wouldn’t. It didn’t smell like snow. 

My younger son was home for just a little while yesterday. He left with his car, which he needed for an event not accessible to public transport, and I finished a pretty darn productive work day. I didn’t check that many things off my ever-growing list, but the work that I did do was really good if I say so myself. Later, my older son introduced me to Connections, another NYT word game. I have played and lost twice now, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. 

It’s December 7, the day that continues to live in infamy. It’s also a Saturday in December, which means that I have places to go and things to do. Christmas doesn’t happen by itself, I tell you what. I’m going to go do some shopping. Somebody has to make the Christmas magic for which people later become nostalgic. That somebody is me. 

*****

December 8. Christmas is two weeks and a few days away. It’s Sunday and I might go to church but I might not. I have a lot to do. 

Christmas party season is underway. I went to a party last night and have two more to attend this week. I don’t love parties but I don’t hate them either. I like being around people and I like music and lights and party food. But the whole thing is also exhausting and I am always so happy to come home and decompress. It’s quite an effort to be a party person. It takes some recovery time. 

I’m getting the hang of Connections, too. It’s a sneaky and deceptive little game, but I now have a win streak: 1 of 1. My win percentage is still an abysmal 33% but I intend to improve that. 

*****

Every December, I have an anxiety dream in which I realize at 9 PM on Christmas Eve that I forgot to do any Christmas prep or shopping. The dream varies a little bit. Sometimes the panicked wake-up happens on Christmas morning. Sometimes it happens on the morning of Christmas Eve, leaving me with one day to shop, clean, decorate, and cook. I bet I could do that if I had to but I don’t plan to have to. I did some more shopping this weekend, and I bought a ham and some baking ingredients. The house is decorated inside and out. We even bought a tree yesterday, but that tree is going to remain unornamented until later this week. Maybe early next week. I might need to get my niece over here to help. If you need a Christmas tree decorated, you can’t ask for a better assistant than an 8-year-old girl with very strong opinions on Christmas decorating. She probably won’t even need me. In a year or two I can probably get her to make the cookies too. 

Meanwhile, my Connections streak is up to two now. I solved today’s puzzle without any errors, a perfect score. My win percentage is now all the way up to 50%. I have a lot to do during the holidays so I’m up with the sun. Connections is going to get up a little earlier in the morning if it wants to trick me. 

Free

In 2023, I watched “Navalny” with my family, just before it won the Academy Award for Best Documentary. “Navalny” is the story of the near-deadly poisoning of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny and the independent investigation that proved Vladimir Putin’s direct involvement. As we now know, Navalny recovered from the poisoning in a hospital and rehab facility in Germany and then returned home to Russia knowing that he faced certain arrest and imprisonment. 

Patriot, Navalny’s memoir, picks up where “Navalny” left off. Navalny returns home to Russia, is promptly arrested, and spends the remaining years of his life in prison, battling escalating and ever more absurd criminal charges designed to justify his ongoing imprisonment. 

The book tells two different stories. In the first roughly half of Patriot, Navalny writes about his life as a free person - his childhood in an Army family, his education, his initial support of Boris Yeltsin and his eventual disillusionment with the post-Soviet regime in Russia, his marriage to Yulia, his early career as an anti-Putin dissident during the early years of the 21st century, and his first conviction. In the second half, he writes about his life in prison. 

Just as the criminal charges against Navalny accumulated, his prison conditions worsened. In the early days of his imprisonment, he is held in a normal Russian prison - terrible, but not unbearable. Navalny writes about the prison routine - exercise, meals, showers, reading, and work - and although he is lonely and isolated and sometimes fearful, he makes the best of his situation. As an inmate in a normal prison, he’s entitled to occasional visits, and is allowed to receive food parcels and other items. He accumulates so many books that he has a hard time moving them when he’s transferred to another prison. He spends his days reading and writing and maintaining his health as best he can. He finds ways to be happy. There is a particularly moving passage in which Navalny washes the dirty walls of a new cell, and then sits on his bed enjoying the results of his work, content for a moment. He’s surrounded by walls, but at least they’re clean and bright, and that is enough for that moment. 

*****

Alexei Navalny knew he was going to die in prison, and he jokes about how his eventual death will boost sales of the book that he’s writing a few words at a time, whenever he can get his hands on pen and paper. “The book’s author has been murdered by a villainous president; what more could the marketing department ask for?" He had to have been afraid, many times over, but he persisted in telling the truth. 

*****

Right now, I’m reading Timothy Snyder’s On Freedom. I read On Tyranny right after the election, just as its first rule, Do Not Obey in Advance, was gaining traction in the social media discourse. Sadly, lots of powerful people have been obeying in advance. Maybe Joe and Mika and Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos need to read Dr. Snyder’s books. 

On Tyranny is very short - just a list of rules for dealing with the imposition of tyranny, with short explanations for each. On Freedom is a full-length book that examines the notion of freedom through the idea of kӧrper vs. lieb: the former is the German word for the physical body, and the latter means something like the soul, or the whole person. On Freedom is about the difference between what Snyder calls “negative freedom” or freedom from and “positive freedom,” which is freedom to - to live and learn and love and travel and be human and fully alive; to be a person and not just a body. 

This doesn’t mean that the body is not important. We’re all bodies with bodily needs and we all have to engage with the physical world. Alexei Navalny writes beautifully about the life of the body, even in prison - the joy of a shower and clean clothes, the pleasure of bread and butter and instant coffee with milk on Sundays during his early imprisonment when he was still allowed such luxuries. But just as a person can be limited and imprisoned by an unhealthy body, a healthy person can also be imprisoned by fear of the physical consequences of standing up to a tyrant. You could be beaten, thrown in jail, tortured, or even killed. Or you could just lose your job and then be forced to live in poverty and discomfort. No one wants this to happen to them. I’m sure that Alexei Navalny didn’t want any of what happened to him. But what kind of life do you have if you limit your speech and your actions and even your thoughts to appease a tyrant’s whims? You might be physically free in the most limited sense, but you’re not truly free unless you know what the truth is and you’re not afraid to speak it and live by it. 

*****

Alexei Navalny never stopped telling the truth, no matter how many times Putin and his henchmen threw him in jail or moved him to ever more harsh and restrictive facilities. He decided not to be afraid of anything, and that is his advice to all of us: Don’t be afraid of anything. In daily life, of course, I’m afraid of everything; or rather, I worry about everything. Thankfully, courage (as no one knows better than I) is not the same as fearlessness. Courage is doing what you have to do even when you’re afraid - especially when you’re afraid. I’ll never be fearless but I hope to be courageous. And I’ll never be as courageous as Alexei Navalny but I hope and intend to be courageous enough for any moment that demands it. I don’t want to lose my job or go to prison or suffer any of the other consequences of speaking out in times of injustice and tyranny. But I want to live like a free person more than I want to avoid suffering. 

My favorite holiday

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, making today, I suppose, Thanksgiving Eve. But to me, it is Potato Day. I’m serious about Thanksgiving mashed potatoes. I make them from scratch, and I make a lot of them. It’s a day-before endeavor, not a day-of thing. Thankfully, mashed potatoes lend themselves very well to advance preparation. What you want to do is make your mashed potatoes, spread them out in a baking dish, cover with aluminum foil, and refrigerate overnight. Then warm the dish up in the oven the next day. Perfect. 

If you’re cooking the entire Thanksgiving dinner, as I do, it’s definitely advisable to do some of the hard part in advance so you can do things other than cook on the day itself, like take a walk and watch movies and avoid the news and have your first glass of wine right around 3 PM. So today, I’ll peel carrots, tear up bread and chop onions and celery for stuffing (almost as important as the potatoes), and make ten pounds’ worth of mashed potatoes. Oh, and I’ll bark orders all day long. That is my favorite part. 

*****

My husband called me from work about 20 minutes after I wrote this. “I told you that the chimney sweep is coming, right?” Well chim chiminy chim chiminy chim chim cherroo no you absolutely did not, and why would you schedule a chimney sweep to come here on the day before gosh-darn Thanksgiving? Not only was the chimney sweep coming, but he was on his way when I was up to my neck in potatoes. Thankfully, the whole thing took less than half an hour, and the chimney sweep people were competent and capable and left no mess behind. But still. 

Today is Thanksgiving. The turkey has been in the oven since about 9:15 AM, and should be ready at about 3. The starting times for everything else are staggered and ideally everything should be ready at about the same time, but I fly by the seat of my pants on Thanksgiving and a lot is left to chance. It’ll all be fine. 

*****

Every holiday, I peruse the internet for new recipe ideas. I’ve made the same menu for Thanksgiving and Christmas, with slight variations, for decades now, and I think that people will get bored and that I should try something new. But then I get overwhelmed with indecision and I end up doing the same thing I always do, and everyone loves it. 

And everyone did love it. We had kind of a perfect Thanksgiving. Morning rain gave way to clouds with tiny little hints of sun, and my sons joined me on my annual turkey-is-in-the-oven walk around the neighborhood. The sun started really breaking through the cloud cover just as we turned the corner back on to our street, and the rest of the day was clear and bright but subdued - very Novemberish. We took the annual photo of the boys and their cousins with their grandmother with a backdrop of November trees and November sunlight and crunchy dead leaves. We hung around outside despite the cold, and watched football and Christmas movies, and ate like there was no tomorrow. I was so full of holiday chill that I took a nap before cleaning up, and that turned out to be a great decision because my husband and sons did 80 percent of the clean-up while I slept on the couch. See, I keep thinking that there must be a way to improve my holiday dinners, and sleeping on the couch is a huge improvement over cleaning up food and washing dishes, so maybe change is good sometimes. 

*****

It’s Saturday now, the last day of November. It’s hard to believe that we’re actually still in the same month that began with the 2024 election. I remember the first Saturday of November, walking from the Metro station to Gallaudet University for a swim meet, and thinking that this was it, the last weekend before we’d elect our first woman President and FINALLY put the Trump era behind us…that seems so long ago. 

Let’s not think about it, OK? Let’s think about Christmas. 

It’s very cold today, at least for here. A high temperature of 35 is cold anywhere, actually, but it’s really cold for Maryland in what is technically still autumn. We’re putting up our Christmas decorations. My son and I went out this morning and bought some extra lights and Command strips. I cleared away some pictures and decorative objects to make room for Christmas things, and I’m about halfway through placing all of the indoor decorations. My husband and sons are outside hanging lights. I took a break to eat the best sandwich that a person can eat: turkey, mashed potato, stuffing, cranberry sauce, white toast, salt and pepper and a little mayo. It was perfection. Thanksgiving dinner is an absolute shit ton of work but that sandwich is worth a day and a half in the kitchen. Later on, I’ll bundle up and walk that sandwich off. There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. 

******

That’s nonsense of course, there is absolutely such a thing as bad weather, but my rather ugly puffy jacket kept me warm enough for a brisk walk with my friend and her dog and a big stick. There is a pitbull in the neighborhood who keeps getting loose, and he’s been spotted several times during the last few days, including by my friend and her dog, who had a very unpleasant encounter with this canine menace. I picked up a big stick just in case, but thankfully, we did not need it. 

Other than walking and cooking and cleaning and decorating and Christmas shopping and hanging out with my kids, I haven’t done much this weekend except to avoid the news. My no Trump on weekends policy is in full effect again. I’ve watched movies old and new: The Holdovers (a new holiday favorite), Wicked (a Wednesday night showing with my family - we loved it), Dead Poets Society (my youngest had never seen it), A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (one of my favorites of the last few years), Saturday Night (we rented it - it was quite good and I might have more to say about it later) and of course bits and pieces of Elf and Christmas Vacation. The best way to spread Christmas cheer is to not think about Trump for a few days. We haven’t looked at news coverage in any form since Wednesday, and we are just about the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse. 

*****

It was an almost-perfect 5-day weekend. The Capitals are winning left and right, and the kids were home, and the house is decorated for Christmas, except for the tree. It’s too early for the tree. As always, I didn’t mind coming back to work this morning, even though it was freezing cold and dark when I woke up. I pulled out the wool and cashmere this weekend. We’re in for a week of actual winter weather and when high temperatures are expected to remain in the 30s, I dress for warmth. 

Santa Claus works one day a year, but I work every day. As we all know, Santa Claus is actually me and every other woman with a family, and now that we’re done making Thanksgiving happen, it’s time to turn our attention to Christmas. I’m making my lists and I’m checking them twice and then checking them again. My chimney is clean now but there won’t be any obese dudes sliding through it to deliver holiday magic. I’m the magic. It’s me. 

Meanwhile, I didn’t let the specter of the looming Trump presidency ruin our Thanksgiving and I’m not going to let it ruin Christmas either. It was a nice vacation but it’s time to get busy again. 

Pre-holiday

It’s Saturday morning, and Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. This means that it is time for my annual pre-holiday panic, and I feel it lurking, just below the surface, but it hasn’t fully emerged yet. My little anxiety cicada is going to stay underground for a few more days at least. 

I did start my Christmas shopping earlier this week. So that’s something. I’ll work on my Thanksgiving grocery shopping today or tomorrow or maybe a little of both. I don’t feel like cooking or decorating or baking or shopping or wrapping or any of it but I’m going to do it anyway because that’s what you do. You get up and you keep going. 

Still, I wish I had a plan for today. I can’t decide what to do first and so I’m afraid that I’ll dither and daydream, mired in indecision, until the day is half over. And then I’ll stress out about having wasted time when I have so much to do. 

Well, that last part at least I cannot blame on current events because that’s just how I am. 

OK, time to get going. 

*****

Saturday turned out to be a pretty darn good day all around - I got things done and I hung out with friends and family and I spent some time outside touching the grass (metaphorically of course because my hand never actually made contact with any grass). Today is Sunday, and it’s peak golden November. We have a dogwood tree in our backyard and I can see part of this tree framed by one of the family room windows. Its leaves are wine red, and the trees behind it in the  no-man’s land between our yard and our neighbor’s on the next block are in varying stages of autumn from golden to almost bare. Our redbud tree, framed by another family room window, is almost bare against a backdrop of a huge old evergreen tree, also in the no-man’s land. That tree should probably come down but it looks pretty in the pale golden November sun. It’s pretty out there, is what I’m saying. 

*****

It’s Wednesday now, just a week before Thanksgiving. There’s a large turkey sitting in the bottom of my freezer, and I set a reminder on my phone so that I remember to take that turkey out to defrost on Saturday. The turkey weighs just over 20 pounds and is frozen solid, so it will take at least five days to thaw completely once I move it to the refrigerator. If you have never cooked Thanksgiving dinner before, now you know - you can’t take the turkey out of the freezer the day of or even the night before unless you’re planning to eat frozen turkey. Don’t say that I'm not out here offering helpful hints. Follow me for more life hacks. 

I bought the turkey on Sunday, my first holiday grocery shopping trip. First of how many? I’m glad you asked. It’s usually three, but never fewer than two. I buy the turkey, frozen, on the first trip, along with some non-perishables and easy-to-store things like canned jellied cranberry sauce (do not @me) and tomato juice and butter and sugar. Then I go back on Monday or Tuesday of Thanksgiving week to buy vegetables and fruit and other perishables. And then I go back for anything I forget. 

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It always has been, and now even more so now that I’m a college student parent. It’s fun to go grocery shopping just before Thanksgiving, running into all of the other Rockville alumni moms who can’t wait for our kids to come home for a few days. That Safeway is going to be lit this week, I tell you what. 

*****

“Windows is getting ready to update. Don’t turn off your computer.” 

It’s Thursday morning and I should be working but I’m waiting for updates to install. For once in my life I decided to just install the updates as soon as I got the prompt, rather than snoozing it multiple times until the last and final “you must update NOW” prompt appears just as I’m trying to join a call or finish a project. So now I’m just waiting for the little progress wheel to count its way up from 11% to 37% to 100%. It’s on its third round now. No hurry, Windows. Take yer time. Let me tell you that I can “get ready” a lot faster than Windows. 

*****

My computer finished its update almost as soon as I typed that last sentence. It’s Friday morning now. I took the morning off and I’m on my way to George Mason University for the Patriot Invitational, Day 2. The only thing I love more than a college swim meet is a college swim meet that lasts three days. We’ll be back tonight for finals and tomorrow for prelims and possibly finals as well.  

The Patriot is a D1 meet, and Marymount is way out of its depth but no one cares - it’s fun to watch competition at this level, and everyone is in a holiday mood, despite the unceasing round of one damn thing after another that constitutes civic life in the United States right now. 

Meanwhile, golden November appears to be stepping aside unseasonably early and making way for leaden gray December. The weather is wintry today. We’re even supposed to get some snow. We’ll see. 

*****

65 degrees on Monday and snow on Friday. Welcome to November in Maryland. And Virginia, of course. It was snowing when we arrived at George Mason yesterday morning. A group of parents from Florida Atlantic University gathered in the parking lot, catching snowflakes and shooting video of the falling snow. It was like they’d never seen snow before. Maybe they hadn’t. 

We went from the chill of the parking lot to the indoor warmth of the aquatic center lobby to the intense sauna-like heat of the natatorium, removing layers as we went, and settling into our bleacher seats with all of the other parents in our college swim t-shirts and our psych sheets. The noise was deafening, and it got louder in the first heat of men’s 100 breaststroke, with me screaming “GOOOOOOOOOO!” all the way through my son’s best-ever swim that put him in third place in the university record book. 

*****

The brief winter preview ended and Saturday was a beautiful glowing November day. We drove back to George Mason in the morning, and Fairfax looked its best with November sunlight filtering through the almost-bare trees. We had plans to see a movie on Saturday night or to maybe get last minute-tickets to the Capitals game (glad we didn’t do that because we can’t beat the Devils) but then my son made finals again so we got to go back for the last session. 

We arrived early - 5:20 for a 6 PM start, and our son’s race wasn’t going to start until 7:20 or so. The section where we’d been sitting for the previous sessions had lots of unoccupied seats, but University of Richmond parents had “reserved” them with “U of Rich” signs handwritten on little scraps of paper. 

Contrary to popular online opinion, most sports parents are decent and reasonably cool people. But there are always exceptions, and the exceptions are usually rude and entitled enough to be memorable. I wanted to go and ostentatiously tear up their stupid little signs and then sit down in their reserved seats. My husband, however, wanted us to be nice. So we sat in the next session over, and when newcomers arrived and stood scanning the section for seats, I would rather loudly comment about how there appeared to be plenty of open seats over there but that someone seemed to have “reserved” them and I wondered who authorized this. My husband nudged me, but I felt like stirring things up a little. I don’t do this very often, but sometimes it’s necessary. 

I posted all of this on social media and lots of people weighed in. Two themes dominated: Swim parents are usually cool but some of them are the worst. And this behavior is very much on track for the University of Richmond. I didn’t know anything about U of R before this weekend but apparently the place is well known for a culture of spoiled and entitled behavior. People are still commenting. I struck a nerve. 

*****

It’s Sunday evening now, well over a week after I started writing this so it’s time to wrap it up. Thanksgiving is in five days, and the turkey has moved from the freezer to the refrigerator. 

Fun Home

After I finished reading Secondhand Time, I told myself that it was time for a break from “it’s 1939 all over again get ready for the hammer to fall” reading, and so I picked up a graphic novel. This is a complete departure for me. I really never read graphic novels or comics, but I had a Barnes and Noble gift card burning a hole in my pocket and had decided that I’d buy an actual book (I read most books on Kindle) and not a fancy notebook.(Of course, I bought a fancy notebook too, a very pretty one for only $10.) Anyway, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic was sitting on a table of recent fiction, and it looked interesting and beautiful and I thought that it would look nice on my bookshelf next to Lynda Barry and Roz Chast and Jason Polan, even if I didn’t like reading it. 

But I did like reading it, very much. It took some time because when I started it, I was reading another book, and it takes twice as long to read a book when you’re reading two books at once. There is also a great deal to look at, a lot going on on each page, and you have to take your time to look at the text and the metatext and the illustrations. All of these elements work together to tell the story of Alison Bechdel’s father, who was obsessed with renovating old houses, including the house they lived in; and the rest of her family in the middle of the American century. 

Bruce Bechdel was a high school English teacher who also worked as a funeral director in his father’s funeral home, which the family nicknamed the Fun Home - hence the title, which works on many different levels. The funeral home was an oddly fun place for the Bechdel children, unlike their actual home, which was a showcase of their father’s aesthetic vision and so probably not the most homey and relaxing place to be. And Bruce Bechdel, the author’s father, lived a bit of a fun house mirror life - a respected citizen of the family’s small Pennsylvania town, he was also a closeted gay man with many secrets. 

Death is ever-present in Fun Home. The family spent a lot of time in a funeral home, a physical memento mori. And spoiler alert: Bruce Bechdel was hit by a truck and died of his injuries when Alison Bechdel was in college and just beginning to figure out the world and her place in it. His death was the dominant event of Alison Bechdel’s young adulthood, leaving many issues unresolved and many questions unanswered. 

Humans are impossibly complex, and so are human relationships, especially marriages and families. People deserve privacy; they deserve to have their little secrets, even from those closest to them. I believe that. But the secrets we keep from the people we love shouldn’t upend those people’s entire worlds when they are ultimately discovered, as secrets often are. It’s one thing not to tell your children about a wild adolescence or a disastrous early first marriage or whatever you did or didn’t do that affected you but not them. It’s quite another to have another life altogether separate and secret from that of your family, or to hide your essential identity from the people you are supposed to love and trust and who are supposed to love and trust you. 

Full disclosure - I still have a few pages to go, so I don’t yet know the whole story. But of course, neither does the author, and that’s the point. Spoiler alert 2 (you're smart, so you probably already guessed this one): Fun Home is more tragic than comic and therefor probably wasn’t the best choice for someone trying to read her way out of a doom spiral. But it is quite a beautiful book in both the visual and literary sense, and very much worth reading. And it really does look very pretty on my bookshelf.  

The course of human events

I want to write about something other than the Godforsaken election but I can’t seem to think about anything else so that’s what I’m going to write about. Maybe people will get sick of me and my vast reading public will abandon me. Whatever. Who cares. 

We went to a birthday party last Saturday. Almost every person at that party was a Trump supporter, and we wouldn’t even have gone except that the birthday person, who was turning 80, is very much not a Trump supporter. He and his lovely wife, an immigrant, spend their free time cooking for and collecting donations for various shelters. They’re among the best people I know, and I would not have missed their party. 

And they are the only reason that I was able to restrain myself when I witnessed a group of other partygoers nodding to one another and agreeing that it’s now time for “unity.” LOL! Yes, just like in 2020, right? It would be bad if a bunch of Democrats stormed the Capitol next January. It would be terrible if Harris voters spent the next four years screaming about voter fraud and stolen elections. Yeah, let’s all unify for the sake of unity. That’s a great fucking idea. 

*****

I keep waiting to no longer be absolutely furious that Grab ‘Em by the Pussy is going to be the President of the United States for a second time. 

Nope, still mad. Even madder than last week, actually. 

*****

Do you know what’s weird? What’s weird is how hard everyone is trying not to talk about politics in social settings, at least in my circles. Do we not want to offend each other? Are we all just trying to protect our own mental health? Are we afraid of what could happen in the future if people know what we believe, and how we voted? It could be any or all of those, but I’m afraid it’s that last one most of all. I’m afraid that we’re all complying in advance. I don’t want to comply in advance. 

*****

Is anyone else highly amused at the appointment of two guys to head the “Department of Government Efficiency?” Two guys in charge of one agency - does that seem efficient to you? Lol. You literally cannot make this shit up. What is entirely made up, however, is the fictional idea that Elon and Vivek can “shrink” the Federal government, when what they are actually going to do is expand the government in all kinds of new directions and then outsource most of the actual work to contractors. End result - fewer government employees (look, we “shrank” the government!) and a lot more government spending benefiting billionaires. If you remember 2008, you’ll remember a lot of Republicans screaming about “redistribution of wealth.” Everyone is about to learn what that really means. 

*****

Well this keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it; and by better of course I mean so much worse. It’s Thursday November 14, the day after the announcement of Tulsi Gabbard as keeper of the state secrets and Matt Fucking Gaetz as the nation’s top law enforcement officer. What’s next? I’m waiting for the appointments of George Santos as Director of the Government Accountability Office, Jared Kushner as Secretary of the Treasury, Tucker Carlson as FCC Chair, David Duke as EEOC Chair, and Kid Rock as Director of the National Endowment for the Arts. Maybe Judge Jeannine for SCOTUS. Maybe the worst coal mine owner in all of West Virginia as the Secretary of Energy. Maybe the Papa John’s guy as the Secretary of Labor. Anything can happen. Sky's the limit. The proverbial guardrails are gone baby gone. 

*****

Do I need to step away for a bit? Probably. Will I? Probably not. 

I’m trying to figure out how to remain (comparatively) sane and reasonable without cutting myself off from all information. I feel strongly that I have no right to turn away from reality under the guise of “protecting my peace” or whatever. And I also just need to know what’s going on. On the other hand, it’s not unreasonable to try to hold on to my sanity and preserve my own mental health. 

I used to listen to NPR as background noise while I worked. On November 6, I started listening to classical music on WETA, and it’s quite lovely. I’m also going to reinstate the No Trump on Weekends policy that got me through the worst of the years 2017 to 2021. But I’m not going to turn away entirely. I didn’t vote for this mess but it’s still my country and I’m going to pay attention to the course of human events in America, political or otherwise.  

A modest proposal

I'm at the doctor's office again. This is a doctor who is new to me so I don't know what to expect. Since I'm old, I have to get a routine colonoscopy and this is the consultation appointment. 

I've been through this once before but with a different doctor whom I really did not like. I was prepared, however, to see this doctor again because it's a 15-minute consultation followed by a procedure through which I will be unconscious so who cares, right? But as it turns out, my brilliant primary care doctor doesn't like him either and she referred me to someone new so here I am. 

I'm in the examining room now. A lovely African nurse came in to take my blood pressure and vitals, and we ended up commiserating about the dreadful election results. It's still raw.  She and I agreed that this country is just “not ready" for a woman leader. It probably never will be. India, Pakistan, Israel, Germany, the UK (twice), Ireland (twice), New Zealand, Finland, and Mexico have all managed to elect women to their countries’ highest offices. Not sure why we can't manage to do it here. 

*****

Or maybe I know exactly why we can’t manage to elect a woman President here. 

BTW if you are not familiar with the “your body, my choice” meme, then do yourself a favor and stay off the internet. Maybe forever. 

*****

I deactivated my Instagram account for a while. I’ll miss the funny cat videos and profane Elmo yelling “get the fuck outta my way” and the “white women ain’t scared of shit” guy,  but it’s for the best. Meanwhile, the new doctor was lovely and the appointment was fine other than the absolutely disgusting discussion of what to expect during the colonoscopy prep. But I guess that a gastroenterologist who is that enthusiastic about bowel movements is a gastroenterologist who really loves his job. If a dude is going to be scoping my large intestine, then I want someone who is really committed to his work. 

*****

Speaking of shit shows, Donald Trump will be President again in 72 days. I trust Joe Biden to use the time well, and I have some excellent suggestions: 

• Pack the Court right now. Expand it to 13 Justices, and appoint four immediately while you still have the Senate. 
• Make Kamala Harris one of those four. 
• Pardon Hunter because fuck Fox News.
• Pardon a whole bunch of other people.
• Order the Department of the Interior to claim Mar a Lago and turn it into a National Park.
• Get some rich Democrats to indemnify Marla Maples so that she won’t have to worry about her NDA.
• Issue executive orders left and right, including orders to protect the careers and pensions of the many military officers and civil servants who have angered Trump. 
• Resign on about January 15 or so, making Trump the 48th President and rendering all of the Trumpity Trumpsters’ 47 merchandise obsolete (this idea is not mine, but it’s excellent)..
• My favorite: Order the IRS to release the tax returns - not just Donald, but Don Jr., Eric, Ivanka and Jared (ESPECIALLY IVANKA AND JARED). 

OK, some of this is probably totally illegal. I guess he could only get away with it if he had some kind of Presidential immunity. 

LOL. 

Well

It is 7:17 PM on Election Day 2024, and I’m nervous. We have a neighborhood association board meeting tonight for God knows what reason (well it’s because it’s always on the first Tuesday of the month but still) and I am the secretary of the association and so I have to pay attention to the proceedings and just lol. I had a glass of wine with dinner, which is a thing that I don’t normally do on a Tuesday night, and it feels like not enough. The edge is still there. 

It was a beautiful day today. I worked from home, and after conquering my nervous distraction, had a very productive afternoon. That’s all shot to hell now. The returns are starting to come in and I am boycotting Indiana and Kentucky as if I’d ever visit either of those places to begin with, but still. 

My Kamala t-shirt got in the way of some sauce and I sprayed some stain remover on it but I’m not taking it off. This t-shirt feels very talismanic. This t-shirt is holding my body together right now. If I change my shirt, I might undergo a rapid unplanned disassembly. Maybe just one more glass of wine. What is the worst that could happen? 

*****

Well wasn’t that a prophetic and obviously unwise question because I jinxed the entire country. It’s weird how today, November 6 2024, I am feeling the exact opposite of happy, healthy, confident, and free. 

The board meeting ended much earlier than is typical for those meetings, which was all to the good, but of course within an hour I was wishing that I was back on that call or really anywhere except in my family room watching election returns. I did have another glass of wine, which absolutely did not take the edge off. The edge is sharp. 

Like many people, I’m sad and furious and expect to be so for some time. But I’m going to just keep doing everything I need to do, and I’m going to try to be there for others who feel just as bad or worse. I’m going to try to be kind, as much as I can. But I do want to point out that if a person voted for Trump, that person is a Trump supporter. That is the definition of a supporter. I’ll have very little patience with anyone out here saying that “I voted for him because (immigration, inflation, crime, transgender prison surgery, blah blah blah) but that doesn’t mean that I support him.” Yes actually it does. Live with it. And I will lose my shit with the first person who tries the gaslighting “that’s not what he means” trope with me. Yes it is what he means, all of it. The FA part of this timeline was no fun whatsoever. I hope that the FO part won’t be as bad as I fear. 

Novemberish

Remember two weeks ago, when the Republican candidate for President addressed the very important subject of a dead golfer’s genitalia during a campaign speech? And then remember last week when that same candidate took part in a rally where speakers called Puerto Rico a floating island of garbage, and made jokes about Latinos breeding like rabbits and Black people carving watermelons for Halloween and a “businessman” called Kamala Harris a prostitute? And then remember two days ago when he speculated about Liz Cheney in front of a firing squad (yes that is what he meant)? And then remember yesterday when he mimicked a sex act on a microphone after threatening to knock the hell out of the venue staff? Every time I think this has to be the thing that ends this disaster, there’s another thing that makes the last thing seem like the gosh-darn good old days. 

By the way, the Arnold Palmer jokes and the microphone thing were televised. Where are the Moms for Liberty? Won’t anyone think of the children? 

*****

Yesterday (Saturday November 2, three days out) was a really lovely day. We took the Metro to the Marymount swim meet at Gallaudet, a lovely and picturesque place especially in early November. We scuffed through the leaves in the .7 mile walk to the Gallaudet Field House, and Harris-Walz signs were everywhere in the NoMa neighborhood surrounding the campus. People were out and about, and the atmosphere was festive. Marymount won the meet in decisive fashion. Later, we took my mother-in-law to dinner for her birthday, where I drank entirely too much sangria, a rare excess for which I have absolutely no regrets. The Washington Capitals beat the Columbus Blue Jackets, continuing the best start they’ve had in years. I’d love to say that I stayed up late to watch Kamala’s appearance on SNL, but I don’t drink very much and I was asleep by 10:45. 

It’s Sunday now, and we’re just entering the fleeting weeks of perfect November light, melancholy and golden. And hopeful this year too, because I think that Kamala Harris is going to win this election. She’s going to win, and she’s going to prevail in all of the multiple Trumpity Trumpster legal challenges, and our long national nightmare will finally end. And a woman will finally finally finally get a chance to lead the country that I love so much. 

Touching the grass

If you’re on social media for more than five minutes a day, then you have seen the videos of parents and politicians and tour guides and doctors and lawyers and who knows who else using Gen Z slang, sometimes with on-screen translations, which are entirely necessary. Skibidi toilet rizz. It’s giving mildly humorous, no cap. 

*****

Last Saturday was a perfect day, especially if you like autumn-y PSL football weather. It was sunny and blue-skied but also a little overcast, enough that the sunlight was filtered and soft and not glaring but not so much that rain would seem likely. It was cool but not cold. It was breezy but not windy. I wanted to be outside, and not just to walk around the neighborhood or hang out in my backyard. I wanted nature but not camping nature, not hiking up a mountain or trekking through the woods nature. Brookside Gardens was just the thing. It’s practically around the corner from my house, and it’s just lovely - peaceful and beautiful, with just the right combination of real and cultivated nature, rife with walking paths and gazebos and ponds spanned by little foot bridges. Brookside is small, so you can walk through pretty much all of it in an hour or so; but there’s enough to look at that you could spend an afternoon. 

Lots of other people had the same idea, which was nice, actually. I like other people. There was a wedding group gathering for a photo (Brookside is a very popular wedding photo spot) and retired people getting their steps in and families with little children, much like we were not very long ago. I hadn’t been to Brookside in over a year but when my children were little, I was there all the time. My little boys loved to run on the paths. There was a climbing structure with little speakers, and you could push the buttons and hear different bird calls. It might still be there. There was a maze, which is still there but the dirt pathways through the maze are now paved over with stones that contrast with the larger, darker stones that outline the paths, but the contrast isn’t great, and so it just looks like a great big circle now. I liked it better with the dirt paths. The Japanese tea house, accessible by a little boardwalk and a little footbridge, is being repaired now so we couldn’t sit in there but I’m glad they’re maintaining it. 

We spent about an hour and a half at Brookside. We strolled around on the paths and walked through the conservatory buildings. We looked at plants and flowers and trees, and sat on benches near the ponds, and absorbed sunshine and breathed fresh air. It was just the thing. 

*****

I have not adopted very much of the new online jargon for my own use, even though much of it is colorful and delightful and hilarious (though nonsensical), because it would be silly for a 59-year-old woman to run around babbling like a 15-year-old on TikTok. It’s just not my language. 

But I do find myself saying “touch grass” all the time. First, it’s a concise and sharp but not mean way to dismiss someone - “go touch grass” is the 2024 version of “get lost” or “go jump in the lake” (which are also both still very serviceable). But “touch grass” is also solid advice to a person who’s losing their grip, as in “go touch grass.” Go put down your phone and step away from the news. Go outside and take a walk, get some fresh air. Touch some grass and some flowers and some trees. Breathe. The influencers are always out here telling people to touch grass, and having taken that advice, I can tell you that they are not wrong. I spent last Saturday afternoon touching all the grass that Brookside Gardens had to offer, and I felt so much better. 

Two words that say so much - “Touch grass” is a pretty much perfect expression. I’m pretty sure that in 25 years, no one will remember “skibidi toilet,” but “touch grass” has officially entered the lexicon. 

Distracted and scattered

 *****

I’m distracted right now (meaning recent weeks through this very minute). I’m scattered and forgetful and every waking hour of my day is broken into fragments of working on or thinking about at least 10 things at a time. I’m always like this, but I’ve been REALLY like this of late. I can’t concentrate, I’m looking at my phone every five gosh-dang minutes, and I cannot keep my mind on a single task or occupation without thinking about what I need to do next or what I should be doing instead. And every day, I’m asking myself the same question: What is wrong with me? What is wrong with my brain? 

*****

I was home working one day last week, and spent the morning working on a last-minute project with a short turnaround time. This is actually my favorite kind of project. The panic keeps me focused. I worked steadily, occasionally checking the clock, and by 10:55, I had a draft ready to show at an 11:00 check-in meeting. Everyone was happy, and so I was happy too. I took a lunch break at 11:45 and after eating some leftovers (leftovers for lunch is one of my favorite WFH perks and yes I know I can bring leftovers to work and I do that but it’s not the same), I decided to spend 30 minutes on housework, and my focus fell to pieces. 

There was laundry in the dryer, which had just finished drying. I knew this thanks to the 30 seconds of  “Die Forelle” that the dryer plays every time it finishes a cycle. I do wish that all of my appliances would shut up. But I digress. 

I think I folded maybe 2 t-shirts and a towel or something, when the kitchen counter caught my peripheral vision. There’s too much mail piled up there, I thought. Time to sort through it. Time to separate the wheat from the chaff. I started doing that and almost finished and then saw that some jerk had left a coffee cup on the counter NEXT to the sink. How hard would it be, I thought, to put that cup IN the sink, or in the dishwasher? How hard would it be to just wash it? Then I noticed that it was my cup. I’m the jerk. I’m the problem. It’s me.  I stopped to wash the cup, after putting away the handful of plates and mugs that had been drying on the rack, and then I remembered the laundry. I started toward the dryer but noticed that I hadn’t quite finished dealing with the mail, so I did that and then started toward the dryer again. 

I folded and stacked shirts and towels and socks until I was almost finished. Then I noticed the debris on the laundry room floor, which turned out to be remnants of some tissues that had gone through the laundry in some jerk’s pockets. Yes, the jerk was me again but is that relevant here? Is that germane to the issue we’re discussing? Does that have anything to do with the topic of this post? 

What is the topic of this post? What are we even talking about? 

It would have been smart to just finish the laundry and then sweep up the lint and tissue debris but having noticed that mess on the floor I had to do something about it immediately. Immediately! So I swept the laundry room and then finished folding the last few items. By now, 30 minutes had passed and I needed to get back to work. In an uncharacteristic move, I left the folded laundry in its neat piles on the dryer, because if I’d gone into any of the bedrooms to put clothes away, I’d have noticed something amiss, and I’d have ended up on my hands and knees cleaning baseboards or dusting furniture or organizing a sock drawer. 

******

The afternoon proceeded apace, as afternoons tend to do. I do my best work in the afternoon, between about 1 and 5 PM. My mornings are spent responding to emails and making lists and crossing small items off existing lists, and posting stuff on various social media accounts. I always try to schedule meetings in the morning, too, because I might as well use the unproductive hours on unproductive pursuits. I can concentrate in the afternoon, and so that’s when I can do the kind of complex and demanding work that requires focus and creativity. Afternoons go by very quickly. 

But once the afternoon is over, so is the period of focus and concentration, and I’m back to my scattered and distracted self. At 5:15 or so, I decided to stop working and start making dinner. Making dinner is not my favorite thing to do and so I’m very susceptible to side tracks and diversions when I’m thinking about planning to prepare to make dinner. I started with putting away the laundry that had spent the afternoon resting on the dryer. 

Yes, you predicted correctly. I did exactly what I knew I would do, which was to sidetrack myself into closet organization and drawer straightening and baseboard dusting, frittering away 30 minutes during which dinner could have been cooking merrily away and instead the ingredients remained trapped in the refrigerator while I sorted socks and separated t-shirts into keep and donate piles. 

I did finally cook dinner, a simple stir fry of chicken and vegetables over rice. It was delicious. 

Later, I was falling asleep watching hockey, so I went to bed. And there it was on my bed - the pile of laundry that I had carried to the bedroom at 5:15. I put it away, resisting the urge to do some reorganization work in my closet and drawers, and finally climbed in under the covers. 

******

I wrote all of this about a week ago, and I’m still a scatter-brained mess. I’m struggling to focus, and I’m making stupid mistakes. I drove home from work on Monday night and at 7:15 on Tuesday morning (Tuesday is a telework day), I realized that I had left my computer on my desk in my office. How was it possible for me to walk all the way across campus to my car without wondering why my tote bag was so light? I’m looking absentmindedly at my phone wondering just why I had picked it up in the first place, and I’m wandering in and out of rooms and forgetting completely what I needed to do in those rooms, and I’m waking up at all hours of the night and trying not to look at the news. But it’s a losing battle and will be a losing battle until at least November 6 and possibly beyond. I hope not on the “beyond” part, but I’m afraid we’re in for a shit show next week no matter what. Maybe I’ll start on a new project. It’ll distract me.