Did you have a diary? One with the cheesy lock and key? Yeah. That kind:
I would get one for my birthday or Christmas, write in it every day for a week or so, skip a few days, or a week, write a bit, and then leave it for months. My entries were written in careful script that slanted left and got bigger as I went along. This secret journal might say:
March 1 “Ooooh, I’m so mad at my little sister. She got in my stuff, after I told her not to, and messed everything up. She’s such a brat. Well, sometimes she’s sweet. But today she was a brat.”
March 2 “In school today, Kim said I was nice. Johnny said I was mean because I wouldn’t give him my pencil, but Kim said he (Johnny) was mean and he shouldn’t be mean to me cause I’m nice. I like Kim because he is always nice and funny.”
For some reason, my recent blog posts have reminded me of theoe literary treasures. Mundane to the max, serving mostly to mark the passage of days.
Today I’m feeling a bit better, enjoying my grandson’s birthday, making some progress in the work of building my business. Pondering Elizabeth Warren’s loss on Super Tuesday.
Warning – political talk ahead…
I might be more devastated by her loss – by the extent of her loss – than when Hilary lost in 2016. Although in both cases there has been this sense of dismay and deep disappointment at being forced to realize that my country is not really open to a woman as President.
I won’t talk about it on Facebook – not much – because that’s my public face, mostly. But I will tell you here that it feels to me like having been smacked in the face, and not in a good way. I’m so hurt and so angry I don’t even know what to do with it.
It reminds me of the deep outrage I felt a few years ago when I had a conversation with a man who was just very clear that men were meant to be leaders and women weren’t. Yes, that meant they would never work for a woman – or female, they said – never answer to a female manager. It was against God’s plan, they said. Females weren’t supposed to tell the men what to do.
And yes, they meant me. I shouldn’t be the supervisor.
I was overwhelmed with an incredulous feeling of disbelief at first. WHAT? But I’m really smart and well-prepared and very competent – and none of that mattered. I felt blind-sided, like running into a wall I didn’t know was there.
It feels like Liz was me. It feels deeply personal.
Warren wasn’t perfect, but she had so much to offer that neither of the other two contenders have. She would have made a real difference.
In 2016, so many people I knew were saying, “Oh, I hate Hilary, but if Elizabeth Warren were running…” Fuckers. It was a set up.
Ok, nothing to do about it now. But once again, women in this country were smacked in the face and told to sit down. I see that. I see where we are.
And I mourn.