FLAT TIRE RANT

Dreamt I had a flat tire, and couldn't fix it. I was driving in one of those many places at once cities that happen in dreamworld, mainly a mix of Denver and San Jose, the place where I live and the place where I grew up, respectively. I was driving the car we have now, and the tire pressure light went on. I was on Highway 36, listening to the radio, and talking to Lisa on the phone. Now, this happens from time to time in real life, usually when the weather changes from cold to hot and vice verse. I thought to myself, "better put a little air in the tire next time I fill up". Then, the engine started to act weird. Sluggish. Not all there. Sort of like our current president. The car began to slow down, barely able to move at more than 20 mph. So I pull over to the exit, which is now an exit off of Lawrence Expressway in San Jose, the one that I would get off to go to Futurama Bowling way back when. I stop on the shoulder of the road, not sure what to do, and spy a tire shop right off the road, some sort of Jiffy-Lube kind of place. So I head for it. But I'm starting to feel strange, like I've been drugged and not in the good way. By the time I manage to get the car to the tire place, which is only about a quarter mile away but takes me what seems like hours, I am lost. I drive through their car wash area, going the wrong way. The workers stare at me like I'm crazy. Finally, I 'm able to park, and I stumble into the store. By this point, for some reason, getting the car fixed is life or death to me. I am in a panic. I must do this. But the store is confusing, a maze of promotional stand up signs and aisles. I don't know where to go. Somehow, I find a man behind a counter. He asks me what I want, and I try to speak. But I can't. My body is underwater, and my brain in outer space. I mumble, and sound like Trog from that old Joan Crawford movie. The man looks confused, so I try again, louder. Now I sound like angry Trog. The man asks me if I'm high or something. I try to explain, mumbling even louder, and lose muscle control and fall to the ground. Then I woke up.

Can't imagine where that came from.

What is going on in the world? Are we taking care of ourselves? Is the vehicle that is supposed to get us where we need to go working? Can we articulate our needs and feelings? I think yes and no. In some ways, I feel as in touch with myself as I have ever been. I see things clearly, but in the physical and metaphorical sense. I am in touch with more friends and family. I walk every day. I'm reading, writing, cleaning the house. I howl out my feelings, along with a lot of folks, every night at 8 pm (which you should try if you haven't already). But at the same time, I feel powerless whenever I watch the news, or see the numbers of dead and diagnosed. Or see yet another conspiracy theory about how it was Bill Gates or China or Pelosi who made this all happen. Or anytime I see or read anything the current president says or does. Let's face it. We botched the response. The first case came to the USA in late January. Some of us took it seriously. Some made jokes about toilet paper, said it was like the flu, not so bad, certainly not something to stop going out and about over. And we were too polite. Maybe we were too used to political arguments to think this was any different than arguing about impeachment or "grab them by the pussy" or making fun of the disabled. But it was and is different. And now we are paying the price. If you don't think the response to this makes a difference, look at the death rate in Germany, then look at it here. And we're still messing it up. We still haven't federalized our response, so states are bidding against each other for medical supplies, driving up prices in some areas, leaving others waiting. For some reason, we've decided now would be a good time to get rid of clean air restrictions from the EPA, because what we breathe at this particular moment isn't really important or something. Our Supreme Court overrules postponing a primary election last night in Wisconsin, so if people want to vote they have to go outside.  And John Prine died last night. That sucks. Here is a bonus song, that is kind and hopeful in spite of the subject matter. For those of you who don't have good links through this blog to YouTube, it's John Prine singing When I Get to Heaven.

What will we do when this is all done, or partially done, or whatever it will be by let's say the end of Summer? Will we treat those who price gouged like Vichy collaborators in post-war France? Will we take all those who down played the virus and should have know better and throw them off of cliffs, like they did in that one chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls? Will we all look at each other, with a new found connection to the world, each other, and our inner selves, and say enough of this bullshit, and change things for the better, with universal healthcare and an economic system that takes care of everyone? I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again- probably within a few hours- but we must and will change how we do things. We have been given a planet sized wake up call. No more time for politely looking the other way when we see or hear things that just aren't right. No more pretending we'll all live forever. No more.

I love this world. I love all of you. I even love our horrible president and wish he wasn't so very deeply disturbed. I can't imagine how lonely, lost, and unsettling it must be to be him. But as Spock taught us years ago, the needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few, or the one, and if he has to lose his job or even go to jail to assure the world and each other that crimes don't pay and that with great power comes great responsibility, so be it.

Ok. Sorry to rant today, but I'm tired and cranky this Wednesday morning.

Here's a song. It's Simon & Garfunkel's Wednesday Morning, 3 AM.