If we're lucky, we take two steps forward for every step we take backwards.
To wit, the Court's decision yesterday regarding the VRA is fucking baffling, and vile, and should stand as a reminder that the aforementioned war is never over. Remember, "It is the common fate of the indolent to see their rights become a prey to the active. The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance." (John Philpot Curran).
For fuck's sake, it's too early in the day – and I'm too sober – to be thinking about politics. But what the hell. I was already angry.
If you haven't guessed, I'm not in a good place today. I shouldn't even be making this entry. Go to sleep worried, wake up angry and worried. Frankly, I do miss that time when this blog was less candid, when I was a bit better at censoring myself, maintaining a proper filter between my feelings and my readers. This sort of came up during the interview I did at HWA in New Orleans. Talking about suicide and talking about how I don't love writing. Saying things that I should keep to myself. But, isn't that what this age has become? The end of privacy? Are we not better people when we puke our secrets and confidences up in public? Isn't that the way it works? Isn't that why Twitter and Facebook are worth a fucking fortune?
But, it's not as if, in theory, I can't just shut the fuck up, close down this journal, and leave the world of tweets and blog posts and status updates. But, then, the carefully manufactured fear of exclusion creeps in...
Yesterday, to get out of the heat, we went to Conanicut Island – to West Cove and Beavertail. The air was cool, almost cold, off the bay. We saw red-winged blackbirds, gulls, cormorants, crows, grackles, sparrows, and great flocks of robins. At Beavertail, we saw rabbits. I wanted to swim, but the sea was choppy and cold. Of course, that didn't stop a lot of swimming tourons. But they must have a layer of insulation that my Southern hide lacks. Water temperatures in the bay are in the mid to high sixties. Maybe they'll reach the low seventies in a week or two, and I'll venture in. Short, short summers. There was haze over the bay yesterday, and we watched fog moving in from the south. I found a number of bones at West Cove, but nothing especially remarkable. Mostly, the garbage that washes ashore during the summer – almost all of it toxic, non-biodegrable plastic – made the beach almost impossible to bear.
The island doesn't soothe me like it did the first two or three years we were here. I begin to suspect I'm better off sticking to the coasts in South County. If nothing else, generally and for whatever reasons, they're cleaner.
I waded back into RP in The Secret World late last night. First time since ~May 27th. Part of me knows better, but the rest of me is too sick of reality to resist. There's been far too much of "Me" the last month.
We've All Been Changed From What We Were,