I'm struggling with myself over a few things. And I have a few important personal administrative tasks to do this week.

It's Andy's birthday this week. He's been dead (how odd the present perfect continuous tense) for nine months now. Long enough to be born. We had only a few short weeks to grieve together and then it's been this liminal state of living. I guess that's fitting, but it fucks with the process of grief.

Had an in-person conversation today with a friend I've not seen since the funeral. He stopped by to pick up a thing, stood on the sidewalk in front of the house; I stood back on my porch. I forgot to grab a mask on my way out.

I still feel like an asshole.

Fred Hampton "radicalized" me (as much as one can look at me, my life, my beliefs and my actions and consider me "radical")

(which is to say, "not at all") 

My family has been in the City of Chicago since before the Fire. And in my early 30s, I spent a lot of time at Harold Washington Library and the Newberry Library and the Cultural Center, looking at exhibits, listening to lectures, watching documentaries.

Of course, you learn the bare bones. The condensed, tourism-friendly, chamber of commerce endorsed versions. You hear the majority agenda assessment. And usually there is one voice, urging you to consider the deeper story, the more important aspects of the man's life or beliefs.

But from there, I learned about tbe radical mutual aid movements. I learned who the Black Panthers really were and the respect they deserved. I engaged with the story of the MOVE bombing. I had read the Autobiography of Malcolm X more than a decade before, but Fred Hampton's Chicago brought me to a better curiosity about the true progressives--black men and women, Latine men and women, queer and trans men and women--in America. 

I'm a middle-aged white lady. I vote for the most progressive person offered me. In the primaries, I donate to and work for the most progressive option. Then I make my regular phone calls and mail my regular letters to my vaguely conscientious and barely moderately liberal legislators and govermors, telling them I want more. I show up when I can and shout the response to the call.

I know the radical ideas are the ones we need, are the ones that might actually save us. I struggle with whether I have any power to make those ideas catch hold. I don't believe that I do. 

Spouse always wants to go walk for miles along the Lake in the middle of the day when it's hot and crowded. And he always remarks that I seem like I don't want to be there. And I don't. It's hot. And it's crawling with strangers who, for all I know, are eating in restaurants, going to bars, using the gym and recreational shopping in stores. I don't want to be near anyone like that.

Not even in the park.

This makes me think it will be years before I'm really comfortable around strangers at all. And possibly never before I can do crowds again, but I was headed there anyway.

I saw recently a CityLab (I think) blurb, showing how some strategic grocery stores and small commercial could make suburbs actually liveable. I can't leave the city because I do not ever ever ever want to have to drive somewhere if I need milk for my coffee or want to grab a few things at the drugstore. Plunk a grocery down at the top of every cul de sac and a book store or hair salon and I might consider it.

That's the other thing I am increasingly less comfortable with now that I never do it: drive. I drove a 12 mile round trip to buy my sewing machine just before Christmas. And I drove an 8 mile round trip to my office in April. 

Plowed through some very mundane tasks on the to-do list. Including the first step (transferring the orders from one hospital system to the other) for some tests my doctor ordered months ago. Getting the parts ordered to cure my bicycle of winter riding and summer neglect. Prepping the sewing room for an upgrade.

It all felt very normal. I even ran across the street to the wine shop run by the woman who went to the same college as my sister & my husband, albeit 10 years after.

Had Indian delivery for dinner. Gonna have a cocktail and some video games. 

It all feels so normal. 

Why does that feel so dangerous?

On our turn around the park (it helps, but I whine, especially when it's hot like now and when it gets crowded), Spouse asked what I'd do in particular, if I had a free pass magic bubble "no-one gets sick or dies" leave to do anything.

And I couldn't really pick something. There's no single thing. And then I said I'd take the train to my parents and go to Dad's favorite restaurant for dinner. Then I started crying.

Speaking of no-one gets sick or dies, I'm having a hard time not being angry at people I know for their choices right now. I know it's complicated. And I'm not arguing or shaming people or even writing them off. I know it's complicated. But I am angry with the choices people I know are making. I know it's going to change relationships over time.

The most basic truth I believe in is that the most vulnerable person in every situation is owed the highest duty of care from everyone else in the situation. I know that is nothing something my society teaches, practices nor rewards. Particularly not when the most vulnerable person is a stranger or can't easily be identified.

Which brings me to my quote of the day:

Yea I’m dumb, and no politician heroes, but @EdMarkey saying maybe it’s time your country did something for you is, besides being a brutal burn, the exact perfect message for this moment and so obvious I can’t believe no one has said it before now.

Today in let them eat cake, I made wallpaper choices. I am happy with my wallpaper choices. Now I need to buy some paint and hire a crew to install it.

I also talked with a friend who was mad at himself for engaging with right-wing nutjobs arguing "good" civil protesting and "bad" civil unrest. I repeat myself here:

The thing is: folks don't go to a protest with the desire to loot. You don't think "hey! A protest! Great, I can steal some Ferragamos!" So the conversation about looting is irrelevant to the meaning, purpose and morality of protest.

It becomes relevant to the conversation about controlling protest, but you have to start with the question of whether it is a legitimate function of democratic government to control protest at all before you can even assess which means of control are least likely to cause looting or violence.

Protest, and the chaos that can result from crowds, are a normal human response to violence and oppression. We got state violence in spades around here.

Otherwise, I don't feel any better, but for now I don't feel worse.

I would really like a sandwich. One of those overly crafted fancy sandwiches with a lot of specialty ingredients. Excellent bread. Expensive cheese. Sprouts. 

I haven't had a good sandwich in probably a year. Since Dummy #1 and I went to Jerry's. Or possibly the last time I was in the Loop at the right time to stop at Pastoral. It's a tiny thing that's making me sad this week while I'm still on my Dear God I Want Life Back kick.

Of course, the flip side of that is how insurmountable simple tasks feel. I've completely forgotten how to do things without the CTA (I have been running between the two condos on my bike for that business, but that's technically walking distance and requires me to carry only keys) and driving? Just.No. It isn't only that the car is 25 years old and starting to show it (the A/C stopped working and now we're not sure whether the windshield wipers do)--it's also mainly I hate driving.  After slightly more than 30 years of hating to drive. I really hate to drive. 

And, of course, the anxiety of being out with strangers. This is partly reasonable (will you keep an appropriate distance? will you wear a mask?) and partly completely unreasonable (are you a McClosky? Are you going to start spouting hate?) and partly banal (I'm out of practice).

So. I stay home. We walk in the park. I do Zoom cocktail hours. Sometimes my sister sits in my yard with me. Spouse does the grocery runs. Dummy #1 runs errands for me and for Dummy #2 sometimes.  In between, I struggle to get work done, sew more cloth masks, do the odd household chore.

In a shockingly unfortunate time, I could be more fortunate only if I were a tech billionaire.

We took a walk; it was hot; now I'm sneezing from all the pollen. I did a good job of walking away from thoughts today, so now I'm having difficulty deciding what to note about today.

Under this administration, USCIS  has ignored the SCOTUS ruling and they are rejecting all DACA applications (and returning fees). Renewals will be granted for a single year only, the start date of approval being the date the application was approved by USCIS. 

This frightens me because people still think that the election will happen and the results will be accurate and a transition--should one be ordained by the results--will follow. I see very little evidence of that.

It makes me angry. Everything makes me angry but especially now, the impotence of anger, the impotence of people in need, the indifference of people in control, that makes me angry.

"[The protests] are a human response to violence."

The US is all violence and screaming at the sky.

Since my early 30s, my weeklong migraines have all but vanished. Since turning 40, the head splitting ones are mostly gone. But the blinding visual ones (thankfully rarely accompanied by significant pain) seem to be increasing. Last night, they were a pattern and a saturated color they've never been before.

Today I hit a hard wall with the not being able to go anywhere and do anything. I just want to go to a bar with my friends. Or a restaurant for dinner. Or a play. Or browse a shop. Or see an exhibit. Or ride a bus. Or do anything single thing that's not looking at a screen in my house. 

I am afraid feeling this way made me something of a pill. 

There's nothing unique or profound here. I'm bored. I'm restless. I'm cooped up. I miss my friends. I miss the city. I miss everything.

This week has been one step beyond. All of the simple tasks were not. All of the boxes ticked done were not. All of steps taken were right off the cliff.

I mean, honestly, nothing happened. We're body and soul together. No-one is sick, fired, jailed or lost. We've got food on the table; money in the bank; and each other.

But every single step this week was crawling over broken glass through fire while some asshole kept moving the finish line further down the road.

But I ended up with 8 flourishing houseplants--two of them are not good for cats to chew on but not dramatically poisonous. My parents are buying me a little home improvement for my birthday: some fancy wallpaper, matching paint and the skilled labor to install it. Nervous about getting that started, with the crews having to be in the house and all, but exctied about having something nice.