And the List Goes on: The Brighter Side of Quarantine

I was amused by last night’s post, by my list of the ways you can tell how the pandemic is going in my house. That post inspired a handful of emails and a couple of texts, however, folks checking to make sure I’m okay.

Let me be very, very clear: I am okay.

Really. Yes, there are things that suck, Yes, there are ways I’m not exactly living my best life. In addition to all of that, however, I am also okay. And here’s a list to illustrate that:

  • I have put so many miles on my super-cheap stationary bike that I’ve ridden it into the ground and have just had to buy a new one.
  • I’ve started knitting gifts for myself and others.
  • I get up every morning.
  • I finally started cooking for myself after living on fruit and snacks for months.
    • I had a piece published that’s all about the magical recipe that got me to start cooking again.
  • I’ve been in a handful of excellent readings on zoom, including a bookend event for the Brooklyn Book Festival.
  • I have more than a dozen new and excellent fountain pens, including six of my favorite vintage pocket pens by Pilot, Platinum, and Sailor.
  • I have four pretty, blue, manual typewriters!
  • Covid pushed me to pull out my sewing machine for the first time since moving to this apartment, sort through my fabric stash and make myself some masks … and then to make masks for some of my neighbors, for a really nice Lyft driver and his family, and for some strangers I chatted up online.
  • I’ve organized the pieces of a book project I’ve been teasing myself about and discovered that I have much more written than I’d realized and there might actually be a book in there when I’m done.
  • I’ve discovered a surprise interest in blacksmithing — maybe not such a surprise, really, given my discovery of my natural welding talent a few years ago. What is blacksmithing if not playing with fire and metal? Same “craft” family as welding, though will many added skills to learn!

(Unsurprisingly, some items from yesterday’s list appear here, too. Blessings and curses are often comingled for me. I’ve learned to just go with it.)

There’s plenty more. These are ones that fit neatly into a brief-ish sentence. Maybe I’ll write about the others during the Slice of Life Challenge next month. The point is, I am fine. For all the ways the pandemic has been awful, I’ve been very lucky. I get to work at home, and I have always been really good at spending time alone in my house. I’ve hit more than a few walls these last couple of months, and that’s been hard. I’m managing, though. Regular contact with family and friends, deep wells of binge-worthy nonsense online, and knitting. It adds up to sanity while staying safe.

I hope you’re finding sanity and safety, too. ❤

So much for the Emperor.

It’s wasn’t at all surprising that yesterday exploded, that the ceremonial electoral college vote tallying was upended by violent insurrection, by an attempted coup. Mustn’t we all have known we were going directly to domestic terror? Every non-violent attempt at invalidating the 2020 election had failed. Caligula has been signaling his legions of thugs. Of course vote count day would be thrown off course by violence. And of course we should all have known that.

Still … I felt some surprise. I mean, what was up with that bare-chested guy in the pj bottoms and weird-ass horned headdress? Seriously, what was up with that guy? You’re coming to town for armed resistance and you’re dolled up like the love child of a Wagnerian Valkyrie and Max from Where the Wild Things Are? I mean, sure, you would be expecting a wild rumpus, but that get-up was … extra.

And what about the guy with the fist full of zip tie handcuffs? What’s that guy’s story? Who was he thinking he would be taking hostage? Why was he thinking about taking hostages?

Yes, some surprises, but mostly just head-shaking anger. The police opening the barricades and basically ushering the mob into the Capitol, cops yukking it up and taking selfies with the invading horde. The noose hung outside, complete with make-shift gallows. The wanton destruction, carried out by imbeciles talking about “their house.” And, best of all, no arrests, everyone just gently guided out of the building and off the grounds and allowed to walk away. Just like that. So casual. An occupying force, and the cops just let them stroll off.

It must be so interesting to be white.

Clearly America is finally great again. I’m waiting for Susan Collins to express her disappointment. Or to assure us that Caligula has learned an important lesson.

I wrote this at three o’clock this morning, while the House was voting on the challenge to Pennsylvania’s electoral college votes. I was watching Chris Cuomo and Don Lemon talk over each other. I was waiting up to see the full slate of votes counted and read into the record. I was tired, and staying up meant that work today would be a bad joke, but it felt important to stay up and watch it happen.

I’m interested in consequences. For the mob and for the Republicans and for Caligula himself.

While I’m not surprised, I am thoroughly fascinated by the comfortable entitlement of the terrorists. They didn’t think what they were doing was beyond the pale. (Sidebar: what the fuck does “beyond the pale” even mean? Where did it come from? Why did I write it when I’ve never said it in my life? I’m guessing I owe that to 3am brain.) One CNN reporter noted how shocked the invaders were when they were met with even mild resistance. Shocked. Because of course they should be able to storm the seat of government, destroy shit, rampage like drunken frat bros … and suffer no ill effects. Of course.

So I’m looking for some comeuppance for these assholes. Many of them are clearly identifiable, should be too hard for the FBI to find them. The FBI, right? Because they attacked a federal building, because they traveled across state lines to create chaos. That makes them the FBI’s responsibility, right? I want to see a string of news videos of these people led out of their homes and jobs and businesses in shackles. I want to see their stunned, angry, teary faces as they’re led away to pay the piper. (Seriously where are these words coming from? I think I really do have to blame 3am brain … that and the fact that I was forced to watch Louie Gohmert’s lame af objection to Wisconsin’s electoral college votes — did anyone need that nonsense?)

And then I want the Sedition Caucus to get their turn. All the senators and representatives who backed Caligula’s play. Censured and expelled. Every last fucking one of them. They are as responsible for feeding and goading the violent mob as Caligula is for goading and then unleashing that mob.

And finally, of course, there is Caligula. I want to see a fast-tracked impeachment. Because it’s more than warranted. And because a second impeachment has the added bonus of making it impossible for him to run for president again. I want that. I want it desperately. I think I deserve it. I think we all do.

At about 3:35am, the votes were officially counted and Biden was officially-officially set to be sworn in as our 46th president. Done and done.

Today I spent a chunk of time reading the weird, on-the-fly interviews with random terrorists. Reading the words of these violent criminals makes me angry, makes me sad, and makes me acutely aware of my Blackness, by which I mean acutely aware of the fact that White Supremacy has always been this country’s middle name.

When Caligula was inaugurated in 2017, I watched because I felt like I had to. I knew it would be awful, but I wanted to hear him actually say all the terrible things he was bound to say.

I bristled when he thanked Mr. My Forever President and his wife, Mrs. My Forever First Lady … and then went on and on describing how they had taken from the American people to enrich themselves and driven the country into the ground.

And then he described the country in stunningly bleak terms. He described our state of being as “this American carnage,” actually used the word “carnage” in his inauguration address.

It struck me because it showed just how much Caligula didn’t understand the job he’d just sworn to do. Yes, every president-elect who steps up to assume the mantle of state from an administration led by the opposing party wants to show the contrasts, wants to be clear about the ways their new administration will be a dramatic improvement over the outgoing crew.

But in those cases, they look forward and talk about the promise they’re going to flood over the land. They talk about the ways they’re going to join hands with the people, and together walk into a new world of possibility and prosperity. They don’t describe the country people are living in as carnage. They just don’t.

Caligula doesn’t know how to make a comparison other than saying option one is a shithole and option two is excellent like no one’s ever seen before. He has no sense of highlighting something good about option one and then showing how he will build high, higher, highest from those seeds of greatness. No. It’s only ever going to be shithole or glory. There’s no grey. And so we got “American carnage.”

Taking from the American people to enrich himself. Driving the country into the ground. Leaving (American) carnage in his wake. So, in 2017, Caligula was telling us what our future with him was going to yield. There were other eyebrow-raising callouts in the speech, but “American carnage” stood out, likely because it felt like foreshadowing, like a description of the world he would create for as many of us as he could. And by “us” I mean the majority of the citizenry, anyone who wasn’t wealthy and white. Yes, it would be worse for BIPOC, but it was clear he had no interest in or love for poor and middle-class white people, either.

We made it through the firestorm of his presidency in a severely diminished and debilitated state … only to have him try to orchestrate some additional carnage — as if all the lives lost to Covid weren’t a damning enough legacy — inviting bands of thugs to the city, ginning them up, and pointing them at Congress. Four insurrectionists and one law enforcement officer died. And as much as I am angered by the fact of how different the violence would have been if the invaders had been Black folks, I have to be glad the number is so low. I have no love for the people who tried to dismantle what’s left of US democracy, but I wouldn’t have wanted to see them bleeding and dying all over the Capitol, either, and I wouldn’t have wanted that more dramatic level of violence happening while electeds and journalists and maintenance workers and staffers were all sheltering in place throughout the building.

My title is the first bit of a quote from Suetonius. The full line: “So much for the Emperor; the rest of this history must deal with the monster.” Suetonius was talking about Caligula, and so … Caligula’s reign only has a couple of weeks left. I’m holding out hope (a hope that feels more like wishful thinking, but still) that he’ll be removed from office in the next few days. I’m not surprised that we’ve wound up here. But whether he leaves office or is removed, we still have the monster to deal with. The mob we watched yesterday was small. There’s plenty more where they came from. Caligula might be exiting stage left, but they will all still be our neighbors and coworkers. This is who we are as a country. It’s for-sure who Caligula is as a person and who he’s been as a leader. Can we do better? I choose to believe we can. Will we? Guess we’ll all have to stay tuned and see.

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In 2017, I took up Vanessa Mártir’s #52essays2017 challenge to write an essay a week. I didn’t complete 52 essays by year’s end, but I did write like crazy, more in 2017 than in 2015 and 2016 combined! I’ve kept working on personal essays, kept at my #GriotGrind. If you’d care to join, it’s never too late! Find the group on FB: #52Essays Next Wave.

Give Caesar What Belongs to Caesar …

… or, rather, listen to Caesar angrily and petulantly demand to be given a whole lot of things that don’t belong to him at all. Damn, but that Caesar is an aggravating prick.

The Washington Post published the full recording and transcript of the call Caligula made on Saturday to the Georgia secretary of state. The full recording. I listened to every minute.

To say that I found this conversation extraordinary is inaccurate and a serious understatement. To call this a conversation is equally inaccurate. Yes, this is an hour-long recording (just over an hour and two minutes, to be exact). It’s a lot to listen to, but I recommend listening. It’s fascinating in a horrifying kind of way, fascinating in an infuriating kind of way. This is the most I have listened to Caligula in a long time, and it’s a good reminder of why I haven’t spent a lot of time listening to him.

Things that struck me:

  1. It’s eerie to hear the desperation in Caligula’s petulant blustering.
  2. It’s amazing to hear Caligula offer up as proof of his election win the numbers of people who came to his campaign rallies — including rallies that haven’t happened yet.
  3. Even though the people on his side of the call are all there to support his bullshit, Caligula can’t let them speak for more than a minute. And, in the case of Cleta Mitchell, he repeatedly slaps her down, no matter what she is trying to say to support him.
  4. WaPo makes a point of bleeping out the name of “an individual about whom the president makes unsubstantiated allegations” … but has no trouble leaving in Stacey Abrams’ name when Caligula makes plenty of unsubstantiated allegations against her. WTF? Caligula actually says at one point that he ran against Abrams. Said he “only ran against her once,” in reference to his endorsement of Brian Kemp. Double-WTF?
  5. For some reason, some really hard to understand reason, Caligula takes pains to point out Ryan Germany’s last name, to call out what a nice last name he has. Please make it make sense.
  6. Brad Raffensperger and Ryan Germany are really, really, really good at biting their tongues. They sit through a crazypants “tallying” of numbers from Caligula, listen to him say over and over that he won Georgia and won it “very substantially” … and not only do they say nothing, they neither sigh with loud exasperation nor explode with laughter. Instead, Raffensperger is able to say, without a hint of a chuckle in his voice, “We don’t agree that you have won.” So calm and collected … as if he had the cool breeze of FACTS washing over him.
  7. Brad Raffensperger offers up the best response I’ve ever heard to bullshit. “Well, Mr. President, the challenge that you have is the data you have is wrong.”
  8. Outrageous to hear Kurt Hilbert, one of the lawyers with Caligula, talk about how annoying it is that Raffensperger’s office hasn’t handed over data that’s been requested, saying that “if the information is not forthcoming, there’s something to hide” … saying all of that after Caligula’s people made a sideshow attraction of not turning over information that was requested from them during the impeachment proceedings.

Listening to Caligula is morbidly fascinating.

  • “We have all the votes we need. You know, we won the state.”
  • “It’s just not possible to have lost Georgia. It’s not possible.”
  • “We have won this election in Georgia.”
  • “It can’t be disputed.”
  • “I don’t need the link [Raffensberger offers of share a link to a video that clarifies a question Caligula keeps asking]. I have a better link.”
  • “You’d have to be a child to believe that.”
  • “I won this election by hundreds of thousands of votes.”
  • “Stacey is as dishonest as they come.”
  • “Fulton County is totally corrupt. As she is totally corrupt.”
  • “We can go through signature verification, and we’ll find hundreds of thousands of signatures if you let us do it.”
  • “You know that. You know that. You have no doubt about that.”
  • “In my opinion, based on what I’ve heard.”
  • “I just want to find 11,780 votes.”
  • “We need only 11,000 votes. We have far more than that. We’ll have more and more.”
  • “Look, Brad. I’ve gotta get — I have to find 12,000 votes, and I have them times … a lot. And, therefore, I won the state.”
  • “So what are we gonna do here, folks? I only need 11,000 votes. Fellas. I need 11,000 votes. Give me a break.”
  • “Brad, what are we gonna do? We won the election, and it’s not fair to take it away from us like this.”
  • “Look, ultimately, I win.”
  • “It’s very simple. We won the election.”
  • “The real truth is that I won by 400,000 votes. At least.”

Caligula sounds tired and frustrated. At times he sounds whiny. He sounds annoyed that he is having to do this work when others should have done it for him already — Powell, Giuliani, the Supreme Court. And he clearly believes if he says something, that thing should automatically be seen as true. He seems surprised when Raffensperger and Germany don’t just go along with everything he throws at them.

You’ll notice that I included several instances of Caligula claiming victory. It probably seems repetitive. Just know that I only transcribed a few of those statements. He says it throughout the hour-long call. It’s as if he’s attempting some kind of neuro-linguistic programming, that if he tells Raffensperger that he’s won — and keeps telling him — that Raffensperger will begin to believe it and will throw out the actual election results and claim victory for Caesar. Ugh.

None of this is surprising … and all of this is surprising. The only thing I’m grateful for in listening to this call is that creepshow vaudevillian Rudy wasn’t in attendance. I shudder at the thought. Every day of this presidency has been a new day for me to discover just how unendingly naïve I am, how absolutely I’ve been walking around with my rose-tinted glasses, a little of the color coating being worn away at a time, but still enough shading there for me to be ever and always surprised by the venal evil that occupies the oval office.

Two and a half weeks. In theory, that’s how long we have left to deal with Caligula in his current role. Still plenty of time for him to shock and horrify me. Plenty of time for him to find another way to stage a coup. Plenty of time for him to activate the violent thugs he ordered to “stand by” a couple of months ago.

I’m trying to breathe deeply, but my chest is so tight.

Addendum:

I can’t stop reading about this call. I mean, I did say “morbid fascination” … In another WaPo piece, there’s an excellent quote from Edward B. Foley, a law professor at Ohio State University:

“He was already tripping the emergency meter,” Foley said. “So we were at 12 on a scale of 1 to 10, and now we’re at 15.”

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/trump-raffensperger-call-georgia-vote/2021/01/03/d45acb92-4dc4-11eb-bda4-615aaefd0555_story.html?utm_source=pocket-newtab

If it weren’t so alarming, this would all be comedy gold.

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In 2017, I took up Vanessa Mártir’s #52essays2017 challenge to write an essay a week. I didn’t complete 52 essays by year’s end, but I did write like crazy, more in 2017 than in 2015 and 2016 combined! I’ve kept working on personal essays, kept at my #GriotGrind. If you’d care to join, it’s never too late! Find the group on FB: #52Essays Next Wave.

Making the Heart Grow Fonder

When I have conversations about quarantine — which is, unsurprisingly, all the damn time — there is always a moment where I mention that I haven’t visited my family since February. (Presidents’ Day weekend, to be exact.) Whoever is in the conversation expresses some level of sympathy, and the conversation moves on.

I realized the other day that saying I haven’t visited my mother, brother, and sister since February doesn’t mean anything. I said it in April, said it in June … But some of the people I talk to maybe visit their families once a year, so my lament doesn’t hold any weight in their understanding, while it’s huge for me.

For the last several years, I’ve been visiting my family once a month. I’ve missed a month here and there, but generally, I’ve held my schedule. I visit because I love them and they are a few states away from me, and I miss them. I also visit because they love me and my being in the same place with them eases some of the tension in the air there. It gives us a chance to have conversations we don’t have over phone or email, let’s us do the regular maintenance requires on those ties that bind, gives us opportunities to laugh at foolish inside jokes, to look at old photos … and just be alive in the same space, together.

And I haven’t been to visit in five months. It’s starting to feel like a year. And the virus is still rampaging, and my job is staying virtual for the fall semester, so it might really be a year.

In these five months apart, I’ve missed each of their birthdays: first my sister’s early in lockdown, when we thought it might not last too long, then my mother’s, and just over a week ago, my brother’s. In about 6 weeks, my own birthday will be coming up. It’s on a Friday this year, so I would definitely have been spending it with them. My mother turned 84 last month.

Yes, I sound whiny. I am whiny. I know that I’m incredibly lucky. I am safe and healthy and working from home. My family is safe and healthy — even though my brother and sister are both officially “essential” and still have to leave the house and work. Our broader circle of immediate family are mostly safe and healthy (our Texas family is in the hot-zone with the virus creeping closer every day). I’m lucky. But that doesn’t mean I’m unscathed. I don’t make a lot of noise about what COVID is stealing from me, about the ways my life has changed since the start of lockdown, but that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling it.

Absence is purported to make the heart grow fonder. I suppose. But I’m already supremely fond of my family. All this absence is adding up to sadness and frustration.

I need one of my mother’s hugs.

Flying Off at the Handle

Here’s a little truth-telling from me, the Queen of Oversharing.
 
I write a lot about my growing relationship with my anger after decades of being afraid to express it or even to allow myself to feel it. Anger and I are still in the early stages of what I hope will be a solid relationship that spans the rest of my life. I need her and appreciate her, but I am still unfamiliar with the full breadth of her range.
 
Saturday, I had a stunning flare-up of extreme rage, something that has happened a couple of times during quarantine, and seems directly connected to my struggle with months and months of isolation. Saturday’s flash fire was alarming in the speed with which it came on and its ferocity. It left me shaking and physically ill.
Each time I’ve experienced one of these rage flares, I have been shocked by their suddenness and ferocity, and distressed by the physical toll they’ve taken on me. As I write that, it occurs to me that my experiencing this rage so completely in my body is for-sure connected to the fact that I turned my anger inward during all those years when I was afraid to express it, swallowing it rather than letting myself feel it.
 
Saturday’s rage blew up and blew out fairly quickly. But even after the shaking and nausea passed, I was flattened for hours, not feeling like myself until I woke up Sunday morning.
 
So why is this happening? I blame COVID and quarantine because I’ve never experienced anything like this until now, until spending all this time mostly alone. I lose my temper, of course. That’s not new. What’s new is going from zero to critical mass in a second.
 
When quarantine started, I thought I was pretty perfectly suited for self-isolation. I’m extremely comfortable staying home, comfortable with my own company, comfortable being away from people. I have about 10,000 distractions in my house — hundreds of books, materials for at least four different crafts, coloring books, art supplies, notebooks and pens … Being home is easy.
 
I was pretty fine with self-isolation. I’m still fine with isolation … And, too, I miss the world. I miss people. I miss physical contact. I am a hugger, a hand-holder, an arm stroker, and I haven’t touched another human being since March 8th.
 
Yes, I am angry about what COVID has stolen from me, angry at the ways it has shrunk my world and my life. More, I’m angry at the way COVID has been allowed to ravage this country, angry that almost 145,000 people have died, angry that BIPOC are disproportionately impacted by COVID, angry that this country has no interest in protecting people and saving lives, angry that Caligula is more concerned about lining his pockets and destabilizing our democracy so that he can strong-arm his way to re-election than he is about a single human life, let alone the tens of thousands of human lives already lost and the millions more currently at risk.
 
I am angry. I am furious. I am so engulfed in anger that I haven’t been able to see it because it’s everything, it’s the air I breathe. And these rage flares I’ve experienced are maybe my system’s attempt at release, at lessening the pressure that has been building up in and around me since the start of our colossally horrific response to this pandemic.
 
I need a different release, a better one. The physical toll Saturday’s rage had on me isn’t something I care to deal with again. Time to ease back into that long-ago-discarded meditation practice? Maybe so.