that is, sorry

I haven’t yet met everybody and had a good chat to confirm this, but I think everyone has times when they get inexplicably anxious. For me, these occur at night when I start thinking about trying to sleep. The day is done and I’m not tired enough to knock off, so I twist and turn and eventually give up and go watch a movie. Or write. Or something. Writing helps because I can through it try to give body to the shapeless fears and unresolved conflicts that flit around my brain with the bats.

There’s one that has been bothering me – that I sort of kind of called Americans bloodthirsty. Um, sorry about that. Sweeping generalizations about large groups of people are basically racism. The truth? While I’m saddened by abuses of power, I’m also aware of inestimable good and beauty of so many American people and so much of its infrastructure. I’m tired of my own cynicism and the way I’m fond of pointing fingers. I think I’d rather spend my life finding good things and affirming them, not the opposite. Habits become character, though, and it’s a hard one to break.

I’ll start small. There’s a mangy puppy that hangs around outside the door where we live. The first time Anya gave it some food it was just lying there, ridiculously thin and pitiful. Now it runs up wagging its whole body and enthusiastically gyrates around, jumping fully into the air and licking anywhere it can. Puppies are good things. Go adopt one.