Do You Care?

To be honest, if I didn’t write all this out I would seriously go bonkers. It, in fact, the reason I even started the blog in the first part, is to have that somewhere I could vent all the pieces that had come to the surface in those months after Tim’s death from Cancer. I guess, too, it was a lifeline to the world outside, isolated as I was beside a Lake in the wilds of Grey County, in Mid-western Ontario, an area sparsely populated, with wild spots untouched for decades and people who had escaped the city, with country neighbours a concession over, and abandoned roads dotted the landscape.

a field in Grey County, Ontario, Canada -

But I steered far clear, generally, of politics, and wrote out passages from the diary I had kept that year as Tim went through the various parts of the treatment – surgery, chemo, radiation – and all the grief and fear that lay within any given day. I wrote about my Mom, about the place, the past, sometimes possible futures, with poetry that had been locked away inside me spilling out onto that virtual page, click click click on that shiny black keyboard.

But then it came like a trickle, a reference here, snarky remark there, and so forth, and day one of his election, and through those stunned days and weeks afterwards, and now over 500 and something days later, and here I am pounding out my heartfelt, and helpless, ramblings and rants, tears and fears, every day, almost.

I can’t keep it inside any longer. I couldn’t. It was eating me alive, sapping my spirit as I struggled to find something else to focus on, and words tumble inside me around and around, and I hunted for something else to say – until there was nothing else TO say.

This morning, again, watching news vids posted by various outlets, MSNBC, BBC, and such, seeing the First Lady on a tour down to South Texas, and somehow managed to make it into some spectacle, due to her choice of jacket, and left one wondering what the heck her staff were thinking letting her go anywhere in that ugly thing, with its gawd-awful statement emblazoned on the back.

Seriously? Staged or incompetence? Now that is the question.

Personally, I believe it was staged, to get all the news sites blathering on, giving the base a chance to be aghast at the pettiness of the Dems.

It’s just too much to really believe that she would actually ever otherwise wear something like that, I mean seriously, the woman ain’t no Soccer Mom on her way to a parent/teacher meeting, she’s the first friggin’ Lady of the United States and she damn well is SUPPOSE to care.

But, hey, that’s assuming she isn’t just some puppet of whatever her Husband wants, playing the role, when it’s useful, otherwise stay hidden away.

I know there are others out there who care, too. Who cares deeply, and so deeply that they sometimes just can’t look any longer. Can not stand the constant forces of chaos that blazes through the news every single day. The tweets, and lies, and divisions, and the all-out war on journalists, justice, and homeland security become child snatchers in the dark of night whisking babies off to places unknown, thousands of miles away from those who love them, with no way to connect them.

And nothing gets solved by the signature of a man who has no heart, but a deep burning desire for a wall and the dream of one day becoming the supreme leader with no end in sight. Nothing. Nope. Just more chaos, more debate, more confused messages, and the populous at large is in no way able to discern the absolute truth, not equipped to navigate the murky waters, and as such turn away, eventually, in a helpless disgust; and rightly so.

Maybe I should to, I’ve certainly thought at least once a day. Even tried, to no avail, as I’m like a dog with a bone when my passionate spirit is lit from within, and I have trouble letting go. It is a weakness, and sometimes a strength, but none the less I suck at being all goodness and light and everything fun and bright, it’s not who I am.

And the poems in my head, are long-winded with dread and these things for me are too raw to often poetically express, and edit.

I’m certainly no journalist, but am a frustrated American citizen who grew up in Canada and feels helpless watching everything unfold, and, I care.

Maybe that’s all I should remember, as soothing as writing this down is, it is to be another voice saying I CARE, and sometimes that is all you can be.

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