We're in a complete media black out. It's less burying our heads in the sand and more accepting our impotence and protecting our nerves. I'm not working this week and had pulled together a stack of projects in the sewing room, but today I'm watching Monstrom on PBS Passport, sorting socks, playing video games. 

I made breakfast tacos. I have an appointment with a remote notary at 1. Zoom cocktail hour later. We have our late fall several day run of sunny warm weather, so maybe my sister will come sit in the yard for coffee.

All we can do is wait and hope.

QotD: I said this earlier and want to repeat it: we had a tremendous opportunity this year to show compassion, in so many ways, and it’s such a continuing disappointment to realize how many people opted not to.

Oops. Forgot to hit post, so this is Saturday AND Sunday AND Monday.

We made some progress on cleaning out our storage unit. Ate hot dogs. Cleaned some more. Ate tacos. Cleaned some more. 

Spouse is getting all the money in line to leave the country. Unlike several friends, we can't do the Irish citizenship, so he'e getting things together to demonstrate we can support ourseives without working or welfare.

I don't know how I feel about leaving my parents or my sister. I don't know how I feel about being a refugee. I don't know that I want to leave everyone.

During the hours of last night when I was awake, I thought about what I'd take and what I'd abandon if we left quickly. Not that it would come to that--even if we go, it would require time and planning. Everything is digital now: pictures, money, contacts. But I'd want the Cursed Family Ring. Mom's paintings. 

As hard as it is to think about the picking and choosing, if we leave the country calmly, normally, like moving to another state, I cannot imagine how we'd leave suddenly, in an emergency. 

I don't know. I'd like to feel safe. It does not feel safe here at all. 

Really beginning to understand Orwell's creation of the Two Minutes Hate, although I never direct it at the targets the GOP would like.

Today was quiet, though I had a fraught conversation with Mo. I'm glad she called but everything just upset me too much and I don't think that's what she had in mind. I'll call her back Sunday, maybe, and try to be better.

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.

I am deeply anxious and because it is rational to be this anxious, I don't know what to do about it. I can't control the pandemic. I can't stop the secret police. I can't prevent the coming wave of evictions, foreclosures, homeslessness and unemployment. I can't protect the polls, the protesters, the people in need. I cannot make anyone who could protect them listen to my voice; I can't make them act.

I call. I write. Although I haven't marched in months, I donate to BLMChicago, Good Kids Mad City, Assata's Daughters. Chicago Service Relief, the Greater Chicago Food Depository. The National Women's Law Center, Planned Parenthood, Medical Students for Choice. The Working Families Party. The Justice Democats. The Hispanic Federation. Other places, when they have a specific call out to meet a need.

I remain anxious. I know what I do is not actually meeting a need or saving a society in collapse. 

I am deeply anxious and because it is rational to be this anxious, I don't know what to do about it. My tricks for naming and defending against disordered anxiety don't work. 

We walk to the park and I am anxious. I try not to mutter. I try not to panic. My voice raises and Spouse asks why I'm angry. But I'm not angry; I'm anxious and I don't know what to do.

I took this day off from work. Spouse did not. He got up; made coffee; went to his work desk in the basement. I got up. Ate left-over biscuits and (veggie sausage) gravy, played video games. Watched The Assistant--which was brilliant.

Finished a test-run of Vogue 7759. Looking forward to running it up in the chosen fabric but mostly I was glad I was able finish something in less than 12 times the amount of time it should take. The test is a completely terrible fabric, but the pattern is good and I made the right adjustments to fit it properly. I'm hopeful.

Mostly, I put the sewing room in order. I am supposed to get office furniture from Ikea this weekend, but I've not gotten an actual delivery confirmation, so I'm skeptical. I plan to turn the corner of the room into a work space because I've working in the dressing room, which annoys spouse, because I get grumpy working at the sewing table and I don't want to work in the dining room. 

I should probably work in the dining room. There's lots of room. There's not any more street noise there than there is in the back by the alley. I could even finally do something nice on the front porch and taking meetings out there. I don't know why I'm being stubborn about it. But I am. I think if I got rid of my sister's piano, I'd be more interested in using that corner of the front room, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go there.

It was neither a good day, nor a bad one. We're privileged and our lives have been minimally disrupted, not only by the pandemic, but also by the U.S.'s unchecked slide into tyranny and corruption. I don't know how much longer both will remain true.