21 September 2016

Turn the Page

I want to remember that the morning after I learned about the shooting of Terrence Crutcher, I woke up with tears in my eyes. For the rest of the day, it felt like I was wearing a 50-pound lead cape. And I kept tearing up. My thinking and emotions careened from utter despair (yeah, suicide crossed my mind) to brainstorming some monumental action I could take as one human in hopes of stunning ....the System? Police? Obama?

into doing SOMETHING to stop the killings.

I settled for changing my cover photo and profile picture on FaceBook. Hardly moved the needle on the gauge of my distress.

I want to remember that I attended a book signing in Oxford that afternoon and listened to an author/editor talk about Hunter S. Thompson's drug and alcohol ab/use with sufficient humor and goodwill to elicit comfortable chuckles from those in attendance.  I thought about how many people were currently behind bars for drug and alcohol ab/use and I did some online searching when I got home to find out whether Thompson served time for drug possession or use. (I haven't found any arrests yet.)

I want to remember that one of the tires on my car was flat when I returned to it after the book signing. And that AAA never answered their phone. And the sunset, as a kind stranger reinflated the tire, was magnificent.

Something turned in me when I learned of the Crutcher murder. It may never turn back. I am not ready to die.

My new "relative" Meghan and I blazed an invigorating chat late last night, scheming and strategizing a project that will challenge the capitalist behemoth that is devouring every living thing in its path -- including hearts and minds. I am excited. My heart is permanently broken and I am excited.