personal · Writing

Lack of words

It is extremely disconcerting to be at a lack for words. But I find myself at a definite lack. I want to write about my life, but it feels trivial when all over the world people and governments have forgotten that people are people.

I was devastated by Robin Williams’ death, in part because I admired him, but also because in his choice I recognized choices I’ve almost made.

I’m frightened and angered by the happenings in Ferguson.

The rest of the world… Well, I’m expecting it to burst into an inferno any day now, since this slow burn has been going for as long as I can remember.

In the midst of all that, my grad school woes seem trivial. I have to postpone my exams again. I won’t be graduating in the spring. It’s not the end of the world.

How does a person keep living and going on and taking joy and pleasure in her own life when all of this horror is happening? I don’t know. I’m doing it, but I don’t know how I, and everyone else, hasn’t locked themselves away to wait for the implosion.

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