I May Delete This 11/29/19

I live in an alternate reality. Where the president, is friends with child molesters and sex traffickers. He tweets national secrets and has classified conversations in public restaurants. Where he comments if his daughter wasn’t his daughter, he’d be dating her. Where there is a recording of him bragging about walking through a teen pageant dressing room and seeing naked teenagers. He’s been accused of rape, but there is some weird clause where he can’t be tried for crimes while in office.

The news stations are owned. So they don’t give you the news as much as they give you their opinions on what is happening in the world. No one is doing anything though. I’m not doing anything. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to begin.

I stopped writing. I’m going to stop writing for a year. I’m not accomplishing anything in my writing career. I want an agent. I also want to go back to school. I need more money. I need more of everything. More space. More… I don’t need more calories. In fact that’s about the only thing I could use less of…

I need more silence. More time to think. More laughter too, though. I need more hugs. I need more friends to invite me to [image error]places even though I don’t want to go. I need more money, to see more beaches, shorelines… I almost died a few months ago in the ocean… It didn’t deter me from my love of the ocean horizon. Seeing the ocean is like running into God… and staring at him brazenly.

I live in a world where there are levels to everything. There is health care for the rich and then for the poor. The rich pretend they don’t know things are different for poor people. And poor people are so busy trying to survive they can’t be concerned about existing longer in this place of survival.

I live in a world where people hate each other and call it faith. Where we poison our water and air for money. Where poor people who are deciding between eating and medicine, get suggestions to budget so they can get out of poverty. I live in a reality where if you say you are hurt you enjoy being the victim. If you say you are numb, maybe people will worship you and pity you in private.

I live in a world where ICE, created fake schools steal money from Indians and deport them.

Where black people are starting to finally embrace their culture. Where the realest person I know is a Jehovah’s Witness.

Where Walmart can lock up their black hair products but it’s not racists, it’s driven by statistics… But they keep selling guns to white men. There is a mass shooting almost every day, but no one discusses it. Google that, see what we are up to now. There are only 365 days in a year. my

The news is depressing. But I can’t bury my head.

I tell my family, my mother and father, that I’m going to stop writing for year. It doesn’t matter to them.

I never go a day without writing even if I’m not publishing.

I tell my family I’m holding my breath for a year and they say we all have to do what we have to do.

And I wonder if they’ve ever been passionate about anything. Not enough to ask. I guess not enough to care.

I guess I’m still selfish. Wishing people would see my wounds.

Sooo, I realized I hadn’t blogged in a while and decided this would be a good day to start.

It’s almost ten, after work and I still have some energy.

I went to work sick and felt better after I’d been there a few hours.

Now, I’m trying to decide what to do with the rest of my night, since writing is out.

Love is Life, Live