Restraint

 

“OMG I’m gonna stick a sign saying ‘Oh yeah, when?’ on their marquee, because they are NEVER gonna open!”

What caused my childish outburst a few weeks ago? A fresh fish store that was supposed to (re?)open this summer, and failed. All summer long the owners put little phrases on the sign in their parking lot near RT 1. Stuff like “We swear we’re opening soon,” or “Summer 2016!” It was October and the new fish market was so NOT open.

Of course I was being silly–I work in a resort area, I was driving my Lyme patient to a medical appointment on RT 1 which runs parallel to the Atlantic, and there’s a fish market like every two minutes. In short, I got choices and NO reason to get so annoyed about one silly place—other than I saw the sign nearly every damn day.

It was just that the constant sign updates annoyed me. I wanted to challenge their little missives about opening soon. And I wanted to do it right on the lying signs rather than making a bitchy Facebook post that would not matter to the majority of my FB friends. My why-aren’t-you-open challenge needed to be right in their face, in everyone’s faces, as they motor down the highway!

My fuss about signs one sees while driving on the road triggered a mild discomfort in my Lyme patient. She’s a staunch anti-Trump liberal, as am I, though at that moment it wasn’t my big problem. With my crazed outburst we again, for like the millionth time, talked about how wrong and illegal it would be to mess with Trump/Pence signs in residents’ yards. And as I’ve stated many times, I live in a rural, red, area–so those signs were just everywhere. We talked about, again, how wrong it is to violate personal property or at least stuff on personal property.

All this made me have a small flashback to my early blogging/post-treatment days. I’m sure I’ve made some offhand remarks on my blog here (and elsewhere) about my desire to just either pull off or deface any of the pink ribbon/rah rah/find-the-cure ribbons I saw on cars. I thought it would be great if some covering/addendum sticker with a message would get created. Like a “what about the women’s lives” sticker I could stick next to those damn “Save the ta-tas” stickers. But duh, again, personal property. So I practiced, and still practice, restraint.

I am “mostly” beyond that now. I’ve written about the wince-inducing run-ins with the stickers tho’ (see 365). I still have to work at suppressing the urge to deface those stickers, but it is less difficult.

I’ve had to work harder at restraint to not deface the Trump/Pence signs, especially when I see that others have already done the work—rare in this rural red area in which live and work (the states in which I live and work, Maryland and Delaware respectively, were blue on the maps, but only because of the metro areas, not the Delmarva section where I am).

Yes, I’ve tried to restrain myself from talking politics on this blog (as mentioned in my first 15 Things). I will continue to do so, but it will be more difficult. You see, with my cancer, my health, and my economic situation—the personal, the cancer personal, has become political.

I’ve shared very little of my economic situation here because I don’t think it is anyone’s fucking business but mine. Suffice to say as a self-employed, VERY small-business woman, I don’t make a great deal of money and rely on those subsidies. I was happy when Trump was the candidate because I thought with his outrageousness, he would never be elected. Good, I did not want Republicans with their constant tries to repeal the ACA, in power. See, it isn’t just him that is scary; it’s Paul Ryan and all the other creeps.

And here we are, and ACA is likely on the chopping block. I’ve read all the think pieces, listened to all the whiny podcasts about “what went wrong” and “what can we expect”. I’ve no faith in the “replace” end of the headlines. I still have fear. I face financial disaster. If I experience recurrence, I cannot afford much; I am of the mind to just not try any treatment. Why leave my parents in a debt they could never re-pay? These are the terms in which I think now.

I’ve been depressed since the election. I can tell. I see something that would normally interest me and think, “WTF does it matter now?” I have no sense of humor or fun. I care about very little. Lately I’ve begun to force myself to engage a little, get out of my head. But my anger and hurt is still so, so great.

On November 9 I wrote a very awful post that obviously I did not publish. It was filled with the blackness that still threatens to fill my heart. Let’s just the say the calls for reconciliation of our nation, the calls to listen to each other rather than shout, that shit don’t reach me. I’ve lived my whole life among the type of voter that the liberal elites are trying to finally understand now and I know they won’t listen or care. Unless my kind of disaster happens to them, and even then, they might still not “get it”.  So my empathy is at an all-time low right now. Of course, as you can tell from that statement, I am just as unforgiving of the “liberal elite” as well. I wanted to spit nails at Garrison Keillor’s post-election WaPo essay with the “let them (the poor WWC in flyover country who voted against their interest and might not get what they bargained for here) lie in the bed they made” attitude (please tell me it was satire). I get the point, but I lie in the bed too—and the bed is not of my making.

Perhaps I was a fool—the personal was always political and I was silly for thinking I could keep it all separate. I don’t know. I will try to practice restraint when it comes to politics here on this blog and on other social media. But I make no promises.

 

 

 

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