JP hard at work, at crack of dawn at 8-10 F
So far feels like a normal ME snowstorm. We’re not planning any trips out today, but I think all the excitement was that the system covered almost the whole country.
It would be great if it dampened the chaos in the so-called sanctuary cities, which are phenomenally noisy and provocative pockets of anti-Federalism, but not States’ Rights advocates, using an old traditional framework. They seem to fancy themselves Revolutionaries or kind hearted defenders of the downtrodden. OK by me, if they keep it indoors and within legal ways and means. And if don’t start a New Civil War driven by TDS.
Well, I did not know I’d be addressing this subject again this morning. Must be perturbations of my peace of mind —or as some friends would denominate it, “white privilege.” Could be a touch of cabin fever. Or maybe all this snow is today’s white thing, propping up my unearned privileges.
Oooh. That sounds bitter. I’ll let it stand, since irony is my target. But my ironies go over heads. For instance, L called me petty and mean in a text yesterday. I acknowledged it and forwarded the “Bargaining” post, which was likely unread. Me indulging yet another WP.
Here’s the real irony: I like to talk, actually converse, ie not just hear myself. I’m good at it. But no one engages with me. Practically no one, that is, except 4-5 webinar friends. I can tell. You can measure my verity, too, by checking out the number of comments on my blog: One, weeks ago. Yes, I’ve sent invites to follow this to many friends and relatives.
Nonetheless, I’m talking to myself. How many of us do that? Are we aware we do it? I can think of one, who cracks my heart, and she’s not a singleton, just the closest. She would say I don’t listen. I say I do; I just may not agree. After all is said and done, listening is partner to talking, sine qua non to conversation.
That’s all for the moment. I’m tired of talking to the void of my own silence.
