Say Something

I spend far too much time in my head. The architecture of my brain has morphed into an arcade machine in which the ball jettisons back and forth, from one wild, unpleasant emotion to another, in response to the news of the day.

Rage, despair, disbelief, confusion and a pervasive sense of powerlessness mark my reflections, as I register the unlikelihood of change.

I become more and more passive over time.

I don’t know how to fight the amoral tidal wave that is consuming this country. The troublesome party and administration are sampling from an ever-growing carte blanche menu of evil, for which I always pay the tab.

Righteous indignation

When my daughter was a child, she was very opinionated and dictated nervy letters to the heavy hitters of childhood fantasies, demanding changes in holiday protocols. It was always up to me to formulate an answer and mail it back to her.

She started reading the Washington Post at the age of 7. One morning, she stormed downstairs, “A lady wrote that there’s no such thing as Santa,” she screamed. “I need to write to them!” She came back shortly for an address and a stamp. It was the first time she had written her own letter.

“Dear bosses at the Washington Post I am shoked that your paper has a big lie about Santa and I objet!!!! Fire that lady! Now! Sinserly,” she signed her name. Beneath it she wrote in large letters “Aged 7!!!” and beneath that, she added for emphasis, “A CHILD!!!”

She was very proud of herself that she had acted with immediacy on behalf of the poor, unsuspecting children who might fall victim to something she considered fake news.

All in the family

My sister peruses the same newspaper until she feels really pissed off. Then, every single morning, she writes three letters, to politicians, corporate giants or local officials.