So. I know everyone is tired of hearing me talk about vaccines. Hell, I’m tired of it too. But I want to go visit my mother who just got out of the hospital. Hell, I want to visit my granddaughter who’s growing up without knowing me. I was hoping my son would arrive here for a visit this week but the pandemic changed his plans. Made me cry. Hard to take. It’s been too long. I’ve had abortions. Let’s see? It was three, two before my son and one after. Two my choice and one I had no choice at all. I’ve walked women into abortion clinics so they could have abortions too. With right to lifers screaming in our faces. That’s a scary thing to have happen. I mean, I don’t stand for anyone screaming at me, let alone in my face. I mean, I’ve been slapped in my face but never screamed at. I mean, I’ve never screamed in anyone’s face but fuck I’ve wanted to. I’ve carried a gun. With my finger on the trigger, in the pocket of my hoodie, while riding on the subways late at night. I could have killed somebody. I think if some guy came up to me and screamed in my face I would have shot him. Like, the laws they just passed in Texas, will have a shit ton of vigilantes intimidating women and people of color. Screaming in their faces. Still. Again. Always. For fucking ever. So I say vote. For our right to choose. For more stringent gun laws. For our right to vote. But now. back to the vaccine. As you can see I believe in the right to choose. I believe in gun laws so we don’t vigilante out. But I also believe in getting vaccinated so we can save one and other. To travel. Visit family. See new places, or old favorites. Without getting sick, or getting someone else sick, or dying. How do I circumnavigate these truths that are self evident? How do I nourish friendships that tug on my heart? How do I let go of judgement? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I can’t. Maybe there’s nothing left. I’ll die soon. What? Twenty? Twenty five years? That’s a hell of a lot less time than it is from my birth. I was born just about 62 years ago. I don’t have that long to live. Maybe nobody does. That makes me sad. We should all have at least 62 years to live. I’m done talking about vaccines. About civil duty. Hell. About global duty. Now I’m going to talk about love. Gosh. As soon as I wrote that sentence my whole body relaxed. I think the nag champa I’m burning is bringing out my flower girl. But at the same time it’s too much. I’m too much. Too much for my mom. My husband. My son. My friends. Too much for me. Too much of my choices. Vaccine? My choice. Abortion? My choice. Gun control? My choice. Vote democratic? My choice. That’s it. That’s all I got. That’s all I am.
The Collective Underground