20 September 2020

0 i forget how close i am sometimes

 you can't even see it here. 


it's there, i promise. 

when i'm walking to the grocery store, two blocks from my apartment, i cross this street and look over my shoulder to the left and there it is, plainly visible, even without my glasses. 


it's only ten blocks away. 

he's only ten blocks away. 

i was describing to nanette how it felt yesterday and i said i was reminded of a lunch she and i had at senate house after trump's election. where we just kind of sat in the twilight of the cafe and sighed in dread. 

i remember that, on that day, we also talked make-up. and that that provided some relief from the state of the world and the hellish thing she was going through and my father's prostate cancer. and the nagging sensation that things were about to get a hell of a lot worse. 

friday night felt a bit like a walk down bad memories lane. a bit like the night of the pussy tape, a bit like election night 2016, a bit like the days of kavanaugh's confirmation hearings, a bit like the weird terror that descended on this last march 11th, and the agitated stuckness that accompanied the protests and the subsequent occupation this june. 

all memories linked by the sensation of needing to simultaneously throw up, sleep, sob, and scream. 

i went to see the RBG documentary with garebear. he rarely goes to the movies and i don't quite remember how i coerced him. something about father/daughter bonding probably. 

there was some part of the documentary that made me cry. not because it was sad. but it communicated something about gender oppression.

this happens rarely enough in films that i remain highly sensitive to the feeling it prompts-- a prickling of the skin, a flushing of the cheeks, tears, slow at first but then falling faster-- not out of pain but recognition. 

suffragette. the florida project. the RBG documentary. these are the films that have made me feel this way. 

we watched the RBG documentary again, as a family, during that fortnight from hell when burvil lived with us, before we moved her into the care home. a fortnight which was, quite honestly, maybe the worst thing garebear, debo, and i have endured together as a family unit, while also being an unspeakably precious time in retrospect, because we will likely, none of us, ever spend that much time with burvil again. 

she kept getting distracted and confused, while we were watching the movie. the only time she was silent was a stretch of the film devoted to ginsburg's marriage and her love for marty.  

the kavanaugh hearings started a few days later. 

i've been thinking a lot about janet reno, who died a few days before the 2016 election. and hillary being a joyous badass in the rain

last week, in my howard classes, we spent nearly the whole time talking about the work of audre lorde. in my effort to bring her out of the fog of History and remind them she was a living, breathing, awesome person, i played them a clip from her speech, "the transformation of silence into language and action." i woke up saturday with her voice ringing in my head. 


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