numbing

 While discussing the stressful state of the world as it relates to addiction, my friend asked me directly, "Are you numbing yourself?"

Immediately, I declared that I was not.  But just a beat later, I replied, "Well, yes.  I'm eating sugar."

And it's true.  I've been relying on food, especially sweets, when I feel stress.  I'm sure there are subtler and more productive ways to go about handling that tendency, but I've decided to declare Sugar-Free April instead.  Starting tomorrow, I'll have no processed sugar for 30 days.  (Thank goodness it's a short month!)

It's been on my mind to try cutting out sugar for a long time.  I know I have a dependence on it.  I know I eat too much of it.  It wasn't until that conversation with my friend--the association with addiction and numbing--that it came into focus just how much I rely on consuming sweets when I'm upset.  

I expect unpleasant physical withdrawal symptoms.  The internet tells me that could last for weeks.  I really hope not.  It frustrates me to admit that my dependence is so extreme, and it intimidates me to consider the daily difficulty of resisting sugar, but that seems like all the more reason to challenge myself.

Thinking about the role of sugar in my life and how to keep healthy is part of a larger project of taking care of myself and others during this time.  We need to protect ourselves however we can.  We need to take control of what we can.

nature lies

9/11/2001 was a perfect day.  Perfect temperature, perfect skies.  The sun shone warmly on my face as I walked from my apartment in Arlington to the local hospital to see if I could donate some blood to help the victims at the Pentagon just a few miles away from my home where a plane had crashed into the building.  The juxtaposition of the weather and the terrorism was extreme, striking.  How could there be such a beautiful set to a horrific disaster?  It was jarring.

I feel that same disorientation now, too.  While winter's bleak slumber has given way to an explosion of blossoms, American society crumbles more each day.  Nature is taunting us.  Spring should bring renewal and hope to the soul; instead, there is a confusing backdrop of brilliant, flashy colors accompanying the determined destruction of the federal government.  The thrill of growth is offset by the demolition--not slow decay--of our proud institutions. 

blooming

Every year I go to see the D.C. cherry blossoms that encircle the Tidal Basin. Every year, I have to dig around for something pink and appropriate to wear. Not this year!

All month long, I’ve been planning for the joy of seeing this ephemeral delight, which is an especially precious experience given how little joy there is around in the Washington DC area right now.  I bought a preposterous pink hat.  I bought a sparkly pink sequin blouse.  I made a sign.  I was prepared.

I've been thinking a lot about joy and humor in the midst of the consuming and pervasive pressure of the "hostile government takeover."  That song--it makes me laugh.  It keeps me grounded.  Also, I watched Conan O'Brien's acceptance speech of the Mark Twain prize, which was powerful partly because of the expectation that he would make light of the times.  Reviewing Twain's career, he argued that humor is a vital tool to combat oppression.

Arriving before sunrise, I wandered from tree to tree past the assortment of visitors.  Peoplewatching is one of the pleasures of the yearly pilgrimage.  I met up with some friends, and together we marveled at the fluffy blooms.  Some strangers took my picture.  (One of them even sent it along to a friend of HERS who turned out to be a friend of MINE!)  Many people complimented my sign in solidarity.  I did have to explain the meaning of "blooming" to several folks, which was a bit of a challenge without using profanity.

It was a happy morning in the midst of a terrible time.

the death of democracy

    My beloved country is dying.  My country as I know it, as I knew it, as we knew it, is slipping away every day, and the tumult of feelings that accompany that painful death is acute and overwhelming.  
Like a death, it has been coming for a long time, yet, now that it’s here, it feels so sudden and consuming.  How will I live?  How will I go on?

The first amendment is at risk. Federal jobs are at risk. My students are at risk. The arts are at risk. Every single aspect of our health and safety. Every single person I know--even those in other countries--are at increased risk.
The other day when I was describing how I want to spend my summer protesting, I found myself repeating one word:  “exaggerated.”  And one of my friends asked me what I meant by that.  “Why do you keep saying that your feelings seem ‘exaggerated’?”  I guess because I can’t believe anything this massive, any shift this tectonic could be taking place to my home.
My home.

I feel so helpless. I don't really know what to do, but I do know how to write. So I am resolving to do that, just a little bit each day with whatever voice I have left to speak.