“Fuck this place and fuck all of you,” a woman bellowed from somewhere outside the window this morning while I was making my tea.
The walls of our little house are fairly thin, and we are close to lots of things, but she must have been wailing because it sounded like she was right behind me.
The first time I heard someone shouting early in the morning, I was startled. But we’ve been in our new city for five months now, so I just added almond milk to my tea and smiled. After all, her sentiment was not without merit considering the current state of our nation.
I suppose I could worry that she is clearly unhinged, but I’m not in a position to judge anyone these days, so I smiled, stirred my tea, and hoped for her sake and mine that better days are on the horizon.
Life on a micro and macro level has been challenging. I do not believe flipping a digit on the year or a new president will turn things miraculously into Fairytopia. Although, it will be nice not to hear the incessant yapping lies and stupidity of the guy evicted this afternoon.
But, I’m not sure Joe Biden cares any more about my morning crier than the other guy. He is more compassionate sure, but that bar is awfully low considering his predecessor. Is it possible for politicians to care about the people they govern, on an individual or even book club level? Probably not. We are statistics even to the well-meaning.
The job of the president seems too big for human concern. Sure, changes slip down the smooth surfaces of wealth and privilege to those waking early and turning in late, but what’s left by that point? By the time things get down to the small businesses, the sick and dying, and those in distress, is it enough?
I’m not sure. We will see. In the meantime, I wish President Biden and Vice President Harris the wisdom, temperament, and humility to lead us into something better. I truly hope they, and more importantly, their team, can quiet some of the shouting on my street and elsewhere.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Pressed Sheets.