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That's Not Important, now.

oh, moment is over.

It’s been a strange, wonderful, and terrible week.
My life, as it always goes, is pretty much the same. Sanding, tinting, and re-sealing the counter tops, cleaning up the dust from the sand (for days and it’s fucking everywhere, I might add), and working on patterns and new projects. It’s kind of all the same, all the time. I both like it and hate it.
This week, though, my life was different because our country is different. Friday Trumpers was elected. I’m terrified, as are many in the country and in the world. It’s a scary time to be a dissenter because we live in a post-truth and post-reality world and I hate it. I’m afraid of all of it and I feel guilty, because my life as a married white woman isn’t going to be as difficult as the lives of many of those around me but I’m terrified all the same. That’s part of the reason hubs and I drove to D.C. at midnight on Friday – for Saturday’s Women’s March.
I was, and still am to a degree, elated to be apart of something so large and so powerful. It was a pleasure and an inspiration to listen to the speakers, knowing that saner and wiser minds than my own are taking the lead and all I need do is follow. I can do that, I can follow if I know where we’re going. It’s when I have to walk alone that I falter.
Unfortunately, or forunately if you’re a numbers person, there was a shit load of people in D. C. on Saturday. It was worse than any GA at any concert I’ve ever been to. Thank the gods that it was cold and sprinkled the whole time or else it would have been down right unbearable to be around that crushing amount of people. I still found myself, hubs too, complaining and hating those around me for even the slightest disregard for other people. I tried to make myself smaller and it was 4+ hours of the rally and 2 hours of waiting before.
As the party pooper that I am, after a few blocks of marching through D.C. with the masses, hubs and I left at my behest. My back hurt, my legs ached and I was moody. I feel bad now, because I’m better, that I rushed us out of there so fast. I know there was more to do and see, venders or artist tents to look through and I should have worked through the physical discomfort but I couldn’t. I was done. My spirit was broken and I wasn’t going to be a good person to be around.
After listening to the crowd chant “March” over Angela Davis and walking over the considerable trash on the ground, I couldn’t deal with these people. I was bitching, complaining, and losing interest in the whole event as I saw those around me almost congratulate each other on attending the rally and march. I don’t know what they’ve done or what they still intend to do, but I don’t know if we’ve started the revolution or just made ourselves feel better after such a crushing defeat. Maybe a bit of both? I hope it’s both.
The car ride, because we were both so low on sleep, was one of the worst since leaving NY. Hubs was a wreck, falling asleep at the wheel, and the rain covering the roads and making it hard to see wasn’t helping matters. Because I haven’t driven the car yet, it intimidates me with it’s price tag, he didn’t trust me to take over driving. So, when we finally came upon a rest stop, we did stop and slept for a few hours. Luckily this time we packed pillows and blankets. Yay learning! The seats, comfortable as hell when sitting up, are not nice to sleep in, something we did not know when we drive to Texas last year.
So now we’re home, feeling both enthusiastic about the future and still scared. I’m so happy to have been apart of it! I get to tell people I heard Angela Davis and Gloria Steinem speak, live, at the rally and nothing will take that from me. But my fear is still there. It’s still there when I think “oh, my phone call doesn’t matter… someone else will call and make their voice heard,” and then I lost that motivation. I felt like I could help make a difference there, now that I’m home I feel slightly hopeless again. I’m an asshole who shares posts on FB and retweets people who make a difference, I’m nothing.
And the of course, there’s that fear that none of it will matter. Sitting at the check out at the commissary, hubs and I saw the cover of Marine Times that discussed how Marines view Obama’s legacy and Trumpers plans for the future and we took a moment to be scared… even if we didn’t call it that. We thought on how we hope, *HOPE*, that the future won’t be so bad for the many service members across the country. We’re both pretty terrified about what the new Congress will do with the budget. Our lives are comfortable and nice, but that can change. I live in fear of going back to the struggles of my childhood. I can’t be uncertain of where the money for bills or food will come from. I can’t.
But right now, despite all the anxiety and fear I’m doing ok. I’m going to try to focus on that, work what I can and try to make phone calls to representatives and donate money when I can.

Started reading The Obelisk Gate a couple days ago and it’s just as engaging as The Fifth Season was. I love it so far. May have stayed up too much reading it a couple nights. At cereal and sandwiches today, because I didn’t wake up until 1pm (we got home at 6am).
Tomorrow I try better and harder.

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