Searching for Solace

Except during Pandemica, I have always resisted watching tv during the day.  I spent Saturday watching all of this:

All The Kings Men

Heaven Can Wait

Bonnie and Clyde

Blow Up

High Tide.

I tried to read, but my brain kept wandering to a broken 8 year old.  Lauren Groff usually draws me in, but even her love letter to Marie de France, Matrix, left room around the edges.  Perhaps James Patterson would have been a better choice, but the library was all out of fun reads.

It matched my mood exactly.

I swam, but images of that little boy and his twin brother wouldn't leave me alone.

I started to cook dinner, but ignoring my incipient sore throat was taking more energy than I could muster.  All day long, the feeling that something was creeping around inside of me, trying to make me feel sicker than I wanted to feel, had been winning.  

Which came first - the sickness of the spirit or the body?  

I thought today would be better.  I read the Sunday paper, heartened by the Editors' Note that, despite Gannett shrinking their opinion content, my Arizona Daily Star will continue to print op-eds and letters to the editor and, most important, cartoons.  And there, at the top of the page, was Doonesbury, once again hitting it straight on, no punches pulled.

Reprinting it in The Burrow requires a $35 licensing fee, so click through to the comic right here.

'nough said.