Plan B. The Morning After (Life In Clusterfuckistan. Round Two)

 

Waking up in expectation of crisis and doom every morning of my life has solidly prepared me for this moment.

Some might say that's an unhealthy approach to life, and some might say that my negative energy contributed to the clusterfuck that is right now.

Could be true, and if that's so, I sincerely apologize. Sorry I killed democracy with my bad attitude.

I am in complete despair over the election results, of course, afraid and vein-poppingly angry, but I am ready.

Ready to face today.

Not with a smile, not with even a shred of hope, but with stubborn determination to get through this. Stubborn determination to see myself, to see all of us (who are reading this) as proud progressives on the righteous side of this divide, heartbroken that we lost this round, but grateful that we are not on the side of fascism, of racism, of homophobia; we are not the scum of the earth.

Being a minority, being a radical, an outlier, a loudmouth, these things are in my DNA. And although I am truly terrified for the vulnerable in this country who are going to be screwed, and I am not unaware that my own life is going to be changed for the worse, I am proud to be standing on this side of history. Proud to be standing here with you.

Here - on our side - is where I want to be in this fight. We are fighting for equality and justice and safe havens for marginalized people. Plus, our side has better songs.

We are standing in deeply fucked up times, for sure. And we might not be able to change anything significantly in four years. Or eight years. Or in our lifetimes (we Boomers). But I sure as fuck intend to be part of the change that needs to come. Not sure how I will do that, but if there's one thing I really do believe in, it's the power to create change. Even if we won't see the fruits of our labor, I want to leave a legacy of protest badassery (albeit from my bed, if my back and sciatica don't ever get better, and also not on Sunday nights because "Wolf Hall" is re-running on OPB).

My 4' 4" Grandma Miriam was a member of the Bund, in Poland. (look it up. It's under, "badass revolutionary organization). She was a fighter. As an immigrant to America, she was a committed and courageous leader in the ILGWU (look it up). My father was denied entry into Officer School in the Army because his high school counselor reported him to the Army, saying he was a Commie and a rabble-rouser. My mom and I went door-to-door campaigning for the Fair Housing Act in the early 60's. I remember a lot of doors being slammed in our faces. In the 1970's, my mom fought to bring a class-action suit against the toxic dump company next to Poly High School, where she worked for over forty years, because an alarmingly large number of teachers there had died from blood cancers (as, ultimately, did she). She lost the fight against the dump company and was unable to get the city involved enough to help, but she gave it her all for a long while. And Tom Hayden (look him up) came to one of her meetings at our house, which was wildly exciting.

The first time I fainted was at a Ban the Bomb rally in Pershing Square. I was about seven years old. It left me with a lifetime of crippling anxiety about fainting - and about everything else - but I'm proud of where I was when my myriad phobias were born.

Oh, we are in a dangerous shitstorm right now, there is no denying it. But I don't want to let despair and fear kill me. If my skyrocketing stress, overzealous suntanning, eating with abandon, and night driving with my grown-back cataracts don't kill me first, I plan to survive fascism this round.

Here's my plan.

We need to be together with other like-minded people. If not in our living rooms or community centers, then at least on Zoom. Getting through this without each other is dangerous. To the commune!

And I'm thinking that we need a secret code when we run into each other on the street, to confirm our unity and strengthen our morale. Instead of saying, "hello", we might say, "oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?" And the other might answer, "and where have you been, my darling young one?" (look it up) Then we'll nod at each other and go on our way, knowing we are not alone.

In the meantime, I am going to seriously reconsider my stance on low-carb eating because why, really. The fatter I get, the harder it will be for the fascists to carry me off. I will do my part for the revolution by seriously straining their backs if they try to lift me. Hah. Fuck fascism. One carb at a time.

I will write about these times as we live them, whether anyone reads it or not, because writing is my medicine. It's the laxative that gets the panic out of my gut. I'll be back at the blog if you wanna hang out.

And finally, accepting that although the world has changed, and not for the better, and we may fear that nothing will ever be the same again, I will remind myself that I can still play a part in it. As I instruct Zoom when they ask me which account I choose to log into, I say this: I will continue as Ann.