The Furious Spinner

I woke up this morning to Mario kissing me goodbye as he left for work, as usual. And I heard him say, "Karl Rove resigned."

I opened my eyes and laughed. He said, "No, it's true."

"Come on," I said, trying to come awake. "This must be a dream."

"No, Karl Rove resigned."

"Why?"

"To spend more time with his family."

"Like he has a family."

He wasn't frog-marched from the White House in handcuffs, but I'm glad he's gone. I hope he doesn't make trouble on the sidelines, but he probably will. I listened to the pundits today talk about him (in-between writing, cooking, and doing the laundry). They talked about what a great success he was because he got Bush the governorship and the White House. I thought, the guy is a sleazeball; he's committed high crimes and misdemeanors (oh, wait, that's Bush...), and they admire him? You know how they say "money isn't everything?" Winning isn't everything either.

This got me thinking about how we change the world or our communities or our lives. It is what we do, but it is also what we don't do. Maybe what we don't do is more important than what we do. If you don't use pesticides, if you don't drive a gas guzzler, if you don't drive any carbon producer, if you aren't racist, homophobic, misogynist...

Which reminds me. Have you noticed that the talk about Hillary is quite misogynist. Disguised prejudice, like so much prejudice is. If someone comes out and uses the 'n' word or the 'f' word, you pretty much know what page they're on. It's the other stuff that's harder to put your finger on. But if one more person says Hillary is shrill, I'll scream. Shrill-ly. Come on. Saying a woman's voice is shrill is code for she is a woman. Give me a break. This pundit was on Chris Matthew's show and he said "I don't mean to be disrespectful (or something like that), but I've been down south and when people hear her, they say, 'She's too shrill.'" WHAT PEOPLE? HOW MANY OF THEM? I hate, hate, hate "analysis" like that. Sure, I do that kind of stuff here sometimes, but SOME PEOPLE WOULD SAY THAT'S ALL RIGHT BECAUSE I'M NOT A JOURNALIST OR A TALKING HEAD WHO SHOULD KNOW BETTER. And Matthews let the pundit get away with shit like that.

I've got stuff in capital letters to indicate that I AM SHRILL.

Shrill is also code word for 'she is a shrew.'

I've been called it, girl.

Been there, been that.

My novel is now 10,000 words. I am having muchos fun. It is relaxing because I am writing about all of these issues I rant about, only it's fiction, and it's happening to my characters. Maybe novel writing for me is the ultimate act of dissociation. Dissociation is something trauma victims do as a matter of course. I remember years ago when some therapist was treating me for post traumatic stress disorder (which I don't think I actually had, by the way—nothing post about it) she encouraged me to dissociate, and I thought she was crazy. Crazier than me. But she said dissociation was a good skill that enabled humans to live through trauma; it became a problem when we lived our entire lives that way. But maybe she was right, after all. My time dissociating from this reality while I write in my novel reality helps keep me sane.

I haven't told you anything about this novel, I know, or posted any of it. I probably won't. I think it'll be a novel you need to read as a whole. We'll see. Maybe I'll pull out bits and pieces that won't give away anything big.

Today I wrote 4,500 words. Again, I hope they are good words. Hope they are the right words. I also finished the laundry, made three separate dishes (quinoa and cilantro with a lime marinade; pinto beans with onions, carrots, and herbs and spices; and dal). I also walked the 'hood with Mario during his break and will soon go out again to walk with him. And I read to Mario all the 4,500 words I wrote today.

Most days I feel like a complete and utter failure. I didn't do this; I did too much of that; I've got to hurry, hurry, hurry. I'm really trying to teach myself that there is enough time. I can do one thing at a time. There is no rush. Years of illness taught me that there never was enough time or energy to do what I needed to do. And perhaps what I needed to do was nothing.

But that was then. This is now. Right?

Okay, time for my walk. It won't be a frog march, but I hope to hear from frogs down in that little patch of marsh by the railroad tracks.

Labels: democracy watch, writing

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