N. Likes

Sometimes I wonder what I’m supposed to do.

I’m finding it challenging to write. My internal censor has been very active lately.

For a moment, I allowed myself to hope.

Heal my broken country.

It’s easy to get confused about what I’m doing when I think, when I write, when I speak, when I act.

A reader doesn’t like my writing, doesn’t like me. But keeps coming back. I respond.

Hope comes for me. It’s delicious.

It’s not so much what Kavanaugh did or didn’t do. It’s his response to facially plausible allegations that renders him unfit.

Call me naive, but… If Kavanaugh is confirmed, this country is in for one hell of a generational shitstorm. And I’m utterly devastated.

Am I disturbed? Disturbing? Do my thoughts make you cringe? How? Why?