Having Trouble Getting Started

It's Tuesday.  There's an election in Georgia, there's an attempt by the Arizona GOP Chair to throw out my ballot, and the anniversary of my perforation is coming up.  There should be lots for me to write about.  

There should be.  But I'm having a hard time getting fired up about any of it.

I wrote my postcards and letters to Georgia Democrat leaning voters.  Watching the televised nonsense isn't moving Ossof or Warnock closer to the finish line, so I've given that up entirely.  I've done what I can and I'm moving on, in keeping with my resolution to find peace and enjoy it.

The radio isn't helping much in this endeavor.  I can avoid the talking heads on tv by leaving the room, but my car radio and NPR are inseparable; I have to remember to change to KXCI, our community radio station, before I am bombarded with voices purporting to know the unknowable.  Once the thought is put into my head, I'm doomed.

Kelli Ward lost an election, got herself selected to the top of the AZ GOP pyramid, and has proceeded to quash any hope that her party will be seen as anything more or less than obstructionist goons.  There is no valid argument, and yet she persists.  My fury is unabated; my vote should count whether she likes the result or not.  The nerve, the arrogance, the temerity, the audacity --- this, too, is getting in the way of my inner peace.

January 8th could have slipped by unnoticed this year, and I wouldn't have minded a bit.  There's no Stroll and Roll on CTG's path due to pandemic precautions.  There's no ringing the fire station bell downtown, either.  There's a memorial dedication, but I was always planning to skip that.  Scarlet offered to stand 6' away from me at the Safeway, showering virtual hugs on my standing alone self as I placed a stone on the memorial they erected one year after the bullets flew.  I demurred.  Without a physical hug, she'd be just another reminder of all we've lost this year.  I'll be sad enough without adding COVID 19 to the pile.

That Safeway memorial is the only part of typing this post which made me smile.  It cost very little, it happened quickly, it's in the right spot, and it conveys the right message.  There are 6 big rocks for those who died, and 13 stars for those who took bullets sit below the explanatory plaque on the largest boulder of all.  Stuffies and candles and prayer cards and flowers adorn the site over the course of the year; I've stopped there every anniversary to do my commemorating and my crying.

This is the 10th anniversary.  The local paper is doing a podcast and running some articles.  I'm grateful that the pandemic has kept the national newshounds away from my door; I've been dreading rehashing the experience since last year.

Getting started on 2021 has been difficult not only because of the sorrow, but because it really doesn't feel any different than 2020.  Even this post is more of a retrospective than an expansive view of the new year.  I ought to have some thoughts that look in that direction.  Unfortunately, I don't.