Oh my dear, if I don’t find a reason to laugh I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop screaming.

I cry a lot. And write a lot of actual letters to my so-called representatives. I’m afraid I’m probably too angry… but that anger is in me from childhood experiences that turned me, body and soul, against — rather specifically — rich, old, white men. Now they run the damn country. The best response I can squeeze out is the occasional wry smile when I see one of them fuck up.

It’s funny, too, because I’ve approached my body about letting that go and she just does not want to. It’s taken a little of the edge off… but that as far as she’s willing to go.

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