I find myself in that place where I want to flee. That, or have a serious fence and electric gate put up around the entrance to our property. Maybe I want to flee as much as I want to isolate. I am losing my tolerance for other’s dipshit opinions regarding President Obama’s eulogy for Mr. Lewis. (It was amazing, and supported Mr. Lewis’ life work). I am sick of people taking stands against wearing masks and social distancing. I want to punch those who don’t understand Black Lives Matter.
In the same breath, I am also aghast at protesters who don’t wear masks, shut down highways (thoroughfares for first responders), and put themselves in danger rather, than use their energy to effect change in ways that stick.
There is no one answer. Ideas dear to my heart enrage other, so I tuck in, and put my money where my mouth is. Shop local, contribute to the campaigns I believe in, and consider seriously about jettisoning social media.
Meanwhile, this month, I will flee to the Island twice. Not exactly what my notion of fleeing is, but a good runner up.