Empty Words

Flowers lying on a sidewalk outside of Pittsburgh synagogue

(This was going to be a Facebook post but it got long so I put it here.)

Sending out lots of love to all of my Jewish friends, who must be reeling right now. This feels … eerily familiar.

Sending out lots of love to all my black friends, who must be … what? Seething with anger that yet more black people have been killed? Terrified to walk outside? Dealing with a crazy mix of rage/fear/hopelessness? This feels like another day in America.

Sending out lots of love to my fellow citizens who are all so tired and scared. When the so-called rights of a few to carry guns trump the rights of the rest of us to pursue LIFE, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, then something is really, really wrong. (I say “so-called rights,” because the 2nd amendment does, indeed, contain limitations)

My anger is boundless.

And don’t tell me to vote because of course I’m going to fucking vote. Do you not know me?

And don’t tell me to knock on doors and do phone banks because I want to but my life cannot support those activities right now. I, quite literally, do not close my computer and sit down for the night until after 9 PM most nights. I have volunteered in the past, when most people I knew were not. I’m not a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of person (unless, of course, it’s actual sports we’re talking about.) Not all the people can do all the things all the time. This is not a time when I do that stuff, but thank you if you’re someone who IS doing that stuff right now. I take comfort in your actions.

And definitely don’t argue gun control with me. I’ve had all those arguments. All they make me do is picture your clueless face every time another shooting happens and wonder if it’s fair for me to think that you have blood on your hands. YOU didn’t kill anyone, but you certainly seem to enjoy cheering on murderers. At some point over the last few years, I would’ve hoped that this would’ve shifted from an ideological argument for you and turned into one that involves some small measure of humanity. The fact that it hasn’t has changed my view of you. Who are you? And have you always been this person?

What can you tell me? Not much right now. Sometimes there are no words.

Help a sister out

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Writer/blogger.
Philosopher/raconteur.
New-age smartass.

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