Don’t know if I can

shake off soul deep exhaustion,

when breathing feels brave.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad’s Tuesday Platform.

To say I’m emotionally drained after this weekend is an understatement. I was already feeling a little less than my perky self when I got involved in a conversation that started when an extremely stupid clueless woman tried to appeal to my husband to agree with her that the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is not a racist. (It was, however, more than slightly glorious to watch her shock as my normally soft-spoken husband told her where she go with her nonsense.)

Then I heard about the shooting. And the reason why the shooter did it. There is something profoundly unsettling when you know that you are part of the group a gunman in a recent massacre was hoping to target.

There’s a lot I could blather on about. A bunch of small things I hoped would go my way justdidn’t. I could say that’s what’s bothering me if people ask. I probably will use one of those as an excuse, depending on who's doing the asking. But it’d be a lie.

Can't lie to myself though. It's not terribly helpful in the long run. I can do neither more or less than let myself acknowledge what I'm feeling, and work through it as best I can.

Song Choice: No Es Mi Presidente by Taina Asili