Anger Issues
It's been a week.
“A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on.”
—Carl Sandburg
January 6th, formerly known as the Epiphany, now known as Insurrection Day, is Carl Sandburg’s birthday. Sandburg has been one of my favorite humans for most of my life. He was a Democratic Socialist and believed in the strength of America’s diversity. In other words, he was a good moral role model—good enough for the likes of Pete Seeger to admire.
When my child, Serena, was born on that day in 1998, I used the quote on a birth announcement, despite my being a devout atheist who believes the kitchen ceiling fan is a higher power.
Their birthday this year was a great reminder of how many true friends they have, people who called and texted and posted about them, brought them thoughtful gifts and gave them thoughtful cards.
It was the most temporary of panaceas. The next evening, they were crying about this headline from the Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention and Humane Security: “Experts Warn U.S. in Early Stages of Genocide Against Trans Americans.” The article is worth reading.
Of course, trans people are not the only Americans being targeted for “mass atrocity.” First, they came for the immigrants. And now, every day, they are coming for regular people who are terrified of a masked militia disappearing them and their neighbors.
Renee Nicole Good was murdered yesterday by an untrained ICEhole with anger issues—because who would take a job as a paid kidnapper and murderer?
I don’t need to eulogize Ms. Good. Her name says what kind of person she was.
Last week, tRump threatened Iran over its treatment of protesters. How dare they? Only here, in his country, under his regime, are protesters allowed to be targeted, jailed, maimed, and murdered.
“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”
—Thomas Merton
Back in September, I fell in love with Pat O’Brien’s “Radishes” at a show we were in together. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and on the night of the opening, I ogled it and wondered how I could cobble money together while being jobless to buy art. It didn’t matter; someone bought it almost instantly, and I figured it must have been my mom.
I can’t help myself around art. I’m forever looking on the websites of artists I admire to see what they have for sale, as if I had more than an inch of wall space left in my house.
When I didn’t get it for my birthday in early October, I was devastated. (Not that I deserved an expensive piece of art for a non-milestone birthday.) But then I wondered whether it was a group gift that I’d get for Christmas. I never stopped thinking about the painting, and when I saw something wrapped in a bedsheet, I knew it was my radishes.
This week, the frame I ordered for it came, and I took a picture for the world to see.
I did a lot in the first week of the new year:
Took Ziggy to the vet to have his cyst looked at; it turned out to be an abscess that is dissipating day by day, thanks to his antibiotics
Started a mixed-media sculpture just for fun
Worked my 16 hours as a consultant at my old job
Read Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins in two days
Cleaned my bathroom and took a shower
Curled my hair for the first time in a month
Today, I got my Botox for migraines. While there, I called a patient a cunt, right to her unmasked face, for taking a picture of the Please Mask sign in the waiting room and arguing with me about why she should have to wear a mask. When I told the doctor about it, we had a nice long talk about politics, though as a rule I avoid that topic when someone is sticking me with needles. We talked about Renee Good. He said he turned on the news after work last night and just started crying over it.
I usually smile in my Botoxy selfies, but there’s not much to smile about. Maybe next week?
