Chores
Despite the fact that there is something deeply wrong in the nation, something deeply haywire, I keep doing chores. I'm like Beckett's Molloy crawling through the forest, not toward light, but toward the vague idea that light might exist, except that I find it hard to maintain Molloy's sense of humor. Madmen murder school girls. Boys shoot their teachers & their sisters. America has always treated its women badly, but now we are seeing the embodied, dramatized evidence of misogyny in the actions of men who are exceptional only in that they act on their fantasies. The pure products of America. Go crazy. But it is our particular craziness, my townspeople. In the heart of the heart of the country is an all-consuming hatred of the female. As the US veers toward wider, endless war, the feminine is simply one more thing that is unacceptable in the Late American Empire. So I put up birdfeeders this afternoon, mowed the lawn for the last time this year, cleared the deck, then came in & made dinner in the lovely new kitchen. Am I simply being sentimental? Naive? Last night, watching television, I burst into tears. I think it was during a commercial, but my mind is too fucked-up to remember exactly.
Joe's words were a shotgun blast to my brain and heart. His words were so upsetting to me that I didn't even attempt to answer his questions or acknowledge his pain. Why? Because I was so shocked to see in print the thoughts I have had myself. And no, Joe, you weren't being naive or sentimental. We all should be grieving.
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