I am filled with a boiling rage. If you don’t know why then read this and take your pick.
My Aussi friend asked me where I was going to flee. At first I said I was going by way of Canada since I have friends who will take me in. But then I said that I was not going to go (obviously we were joking) because we are massive. We, all those of us who marched in the streets around this country, we are bigger. We must fight, we have two years to to get our voice into a position of power. So I stay and fight. You fight too! Find your local political party and get involved, educate your friends and young people about inclusion and how to be an ally and how to just be a caring and compassionate individuals.
Fie is the word that screamed in my head. It is used to register disgust or outrage, or in my case-both. And I am angry. So angry that I need to stop writing for fear of saying things out of emotion instead of intellect. I’ve already written and erased several ranting paragraphs. So instead, I am going to remind you of this. How we felt, what Obama gave us when he was elected. Hope and inspiration. We can still hold on to this. I think many of us agreed we became complacent once Obama made it in. We took for granted that our country moved forward. We couldn’t imagine it would fall backward so much. So harshly. So – constant vigilance, my friends. Yes we can! Don’t give up. We can do this!
As we drove into the state of Michigan, from a sea of pink hats to a dense fog of red voters, I wondered what would be next. Would I have the courage to wear my hat and pins proudly without my pink brothers and sisters beside me? Where would I find my infusion of Fight the Man? Would I come home without a plan?
This morning I woke in a funk, the fog outside still lingering around to remind me of the lack of clarity I felt for our future. What was next?
I didn’t want to do anything- just sleep. But I decided to work out and while I did I had a great text convo with a friend who was also in a funk. She didn’t feel like working out either-she’d been watching coverage and the press conference and feeling disheartened.
I told her to guck Trump! (Thank you autocorrect) and that I didn’t stand for four hours in a sea of flesh and pink hats so Trump could make her fat and lazy. I was trying to be funny but it sparked a great “What’s Next” chat. And it distracted me from the fact I was working out.
Let me just tell you. Something is next. Something is coming down the pipes and we are over one million strong. We are legion upon legion. Compared to us, legion is tiny.
Day one-ready to kick ass.
If you don’t know what to do next www.womensmarch.com/100 has some ideas. And find out when/where your next meeting is. I saw this in FB-volunteer to organize it. Find your people and get together to make our world a world we can be proud of. Proud on everyone’s behalf.
And for you non-FB people -here is my D.C. Wrap up video. Maybe it’ll help fire you up.
Getting ready to head down. Marching not just for today, but for our future. The human rights of all people #whyimarch #womensmarchonwashington
On our trek to the closest Methodist church we ran into a group of bikers that were trying to occupy DuPont Circle. There were only about 20-30 bikers there. And a whole lot of pro pot peeps across the street.
We stepped into a Krispy Kreme to get a coffee and found myself in line with a very large biker. We started chit chatting -he came from PA with his biker friends. He was sporting a confederate flag and various pins- but called the African American cashier “little miss”- which was not only cute but sweet. I was sporting my pink pussy hat (thanks mom! Making a lot of friends with it!)
He made a comment under his breath about Black Lives Matter starting a fight with some bikers. We talked about violence and that I was here for tomorrow. I paid for his coffee over his protestations. Then we talked about my hat. He is of the mind that what Trump 😡 said was 10 years ago and that his wife wasn’t angry. I politely came back with stats and my hope that I can begin to expect more from the men in my country.
He talked about how he smacked a man for smacking his daughter in the face. That he doesn’t abide abuse against children. We were both polite and kind and we left feeling like we had a little bit in common.
Still in search our our church we stopped by a burned out church that was a victim of arson in 1970. There was prayer labyrinth in the church square where a homeless man sat.
“How do you get out,” asked Sarah Jane.
“The only way out of the maze is up.” Answered the homeless man.
So it is.
I’m drinking coffee. I dislike coffee. Anything that looks like dirt mixed with water should be met with distrust. Except in cases that involve chocolate. I like chocolate.
Therefore I take my dirt water and mix it with a teaspoon of cocoa. About a 1/2 cup of coconut milk and a packet of Splenda. It seems bearable. I hope I never grow to like it, because I don’t believe in the concept of “acquired taste” (except in the case of hummus, and if you’re a baby) and if I do “acquire” a taste for it, it means I’m a sell out. I’m suddenly a Coffee Conformist? Maybe not, but I’d question everything I ever believed about myself.
I’m tired because I worked late and therefore stayed up later, then woke early to go for a morning run. Apparently, just so I could go in to work and ruin my running effort by eating a small handful of chocolate pretzels.
Really? Can someone please shake me?
Coffee… Sleep makes a lot more sense.
No angry coffee zealots please. Just because I hate the slew you pour down your gullet doesn’t mean I hate you. I just vow to always hate the stuff.