Please?

 

Not that we had anything even approaching a functional government before the shutdown…

What A Mess!

 

For more than a decade, I’ve been spitting out posts now and again about how lonely it is here in the blogoverse, and how maybe I should just wrap things up here on “Coming to Terms…”  But every one of those posts has ended up with the same answer:

No.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to my lonely little corner of the social media universe.

This year, with my measly 8 posts since January, it seems like I could be letting “Coming to Terms…” die a natural death.  My writing muse has all but dried up, and my connection to social media—even at Instagram, where I can be found if I’m not here—has been tenuous at best.   

I’m going to blame the ghastly dumpster fire that has engulfed the nation since the Wankmaggot stepped foot into the Oval office to begin his second reign of terror.  Only this time, things have been exponentially worse than they ever were the first time.  Which is saying a lot.

Since day 1 of Trump 2.0, there’s been a nonstop barrage of horror emanating from Washington—from masked goons in unmarked vans abducting people off the streets and sending them to prison camps, to Trump’s unfathomable, deeply destructive tariff program,  to ordering the military to attack “crime” in blue states cities (a thinly veiled effort to punish criticism of the Trump regime), to the worst, most fascist, oligarchic, totalitarian actions one could ever possibly imagine taking place in the United states of America (or not.)

While Congress cheers, applauds, aids and abets…or wrings its hands (when it’s not sitting on them) and offers up righteously indignant speechifying, depending on what side of the aisle is in focus at any given time.

Congress has become a millstone around the neck of our drowning democracy, carrying it deeper and deeper and faster and faster to the depths of fascist dictatorship.

One can hardly stand to watch, much less screw up the moxie to DO anything…  The “Resistance” has no leadership.  It’s merely a fractured collection of groups of people, large and small, milling around trying to think of SOMETHING to do to stop the fall.  Our elected officials who theoretically oppose the right wing agenda are MIA. There’s no organized rebellion.  No one gathering We The People and directing us in a concerted, effective effort to meaningfully “resist.”  Everybody parks their asses on social media and cranks out posts about getting out there and…doing WHAT, exactly?  Please…give me a clue and a sizable group of like-minded folks and I’ll be happy to show up and do the work. 

Right now, we are all just…spinning our wheels.

And a corollary to why I can’t write with all this madness going on, is that EVERYBODY and their pup seems to be doing exactly that—constructing long, angst-laden epistles about the shocking state of the nation, and what we all might be/should be doing about it.  It's a de facto demonstration that all these millions and millions of words are having absolutely NO EFFECT.  Words, words, words and more words, and things only continue to get worse.  I feel like anything I could put together would be tantamount to screaming into a hurricane. ..nothing but a fruitless, and possibly risky, waste of breath.  At my age, you really don’t want to be wasting breath. (Actually, I wouldn’t mind taking the risk if there was any hope of my words making an atomic particle’s worth of difference.)

And if I make up my mind to write about something else, I feel like I’m endorsing ignoring what’s going on in our rapidly deteriorating world.  The guilt casts a pall on anything light or “day in the life” that I try to put out there.  I hate the thought of becoming bound to either the doom-scroll contingent, or the "ignore it and it will go away" crowd.  If there is a middle ground I could feel comfortable in, I haven't figured it out yet.  So it’s been easier to just…not. 

But I don’t feel good about THAT, either.

The overriding question for the continuation of “Coming to Terms…” is,

“Where do we go from here?”

I want to write...but I feel like I don't know how any more.  

At 22 years old, it's high time for "Coming to Terms..." to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up.

But what is that, exactly?

 

Maybe some rainbows will nudge me in the right direction.