We are in a damn pressure cooker.

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

The world is about to pop. Or maybe it’s just the U.S. or Texas or my marriage or maybe it’s just me and I’m completely projecting. Maybe all those poems and stanzas about our resilience are true and I just can’t feel it because, inside me, something is slowly building and I have no idea what it will look like when it ignites.

This is the eye of the hurricane and around me swirls chaos and despair, encroaching on my attempts to just get through the motherfucking day.

Ahead is an almost certain critical mass. Those stress dolls that you squeeze until the eyes bug out and you do it over and over, hoping futilely for an ebb in the cortisol onslaught? We’re those stress dolls. Except, instead of the grip of a hand applying pressure, it’s a crushing anvil and it’s everywhere — followed by a pick-axe and then a blow-torch.

  • Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s cancer has returned.
  • Donald Trump and William Barr are unleashing an unlawful and unconstitutional secret police force to kidnap Americans participating in rightful protest and gassing mothers standing peacefully in the protection of their community. We watch, seething, knowing that could be us in mere months.
  • Covid threatens the ability of Americans to take to the polls to democratically elect their president, and the Republicans are poised to take advantage of and exacerbate the problem by any means necessary.
  • Those charged with shepherding us through these trials of death and ruin are throwing us to the wolves in exchange for the loyalty of sociopathic, addled hordes who have smothered their critical thinking for years in the hateful, racist, misogynist propaganda of the vibrant right-wing media complex.
  • Our country faces more crises simultaneously then it has in over a century and there is no goddamn end in sight. Every single day, it takes all I have to tell my children we will get through this. Knowing it’s a fucking lie. Knowing maybe we shouldn’t get through it. Maybe something else should happen.

Matches are being lit and fires consume the nation.

Are we are cleansing our American soul through flame or are we succumbing to the dark fates that have overtaken every empire since water created life?

  • Parents viscerally shudder at the thought of school starting.
  • Parents viscerally shudder at the thought of school not starting.
  • We will soon be forced to make choices we cannot make and we must make and none of this ever had to happen and it NEVER had to be this way.
  • Those of us who consume news and science and data look at our at-risk children and the bottomless stupidity of those around us and can’t help but succumb to a daily “get-your-shit-together” self-admonishment. Stay strong because this ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.
  • Educators are learning there is no end to the disposability certain sectors of Americana grant them.
  • Children, same.
  • Old people, same.
  • Medical personnel, same.
  • Brown and black people, same.
  • Families are breaking under the strain of the non-negotiable fight to forge a better future for the oppressed among us.
  • I look at people I know who should know better with an empty smile on my face and my heart screaming, YOU SHOULD FUCKING KNOW BETTER. Now and then, I accidentally say it out loud. Death has a way of eroding the usual, worthless filters of the everyday.
  • My soul feels like it’s being pulled through my fingertips each time I hit the keyboard in order to wield influence on the forecast of November 4, 2020. The other women doing it, too, feel it, too.

The sting of an unrealized and unrealistic Faith in Humanity from four years ago has only metastasized. The malignant weight of a choice merely partially ours bears down on us, and a precipice has appeared. Only some have the sight to see. The rest blindly walk the fuck off.

The world stares at us in abject horror and our enemies delight as we circle the drain. That would’ve seemed an over-simplified, cartoonish joke mere months ago and now is an unavoidable reality, burning us with the inevitability of what the love of wealth and whiteness can wreak on a nation. There is nowhere to hide. Our sins are consuming us from the inside and out. And we deserve it.

Destiny avoided eventually finds its bite, taking hold and taking under. Denial hasn’t a chance.

The pithy rally of motherhood and depression, “One day at a time,” doesn’t cut it anymore. I’m down to, “I could die tomorrow.”

The world feels like it’s about to explode, taking me with it. And taking you, too.

Completely inappropriate Suburban Mom in Dallas, TX reclaiming her political power and sass after a decade in the Gulags of baby-raising. Cheers.

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