Believe me, I don't need this frigging guilt about not blogging. I marvel at my blog buds like Montag, who manage to have relatively coherent thoughts several times a day about all kinds of weighty things (and then blog about them) and my daughter who happily blathers on and on about the perfectly mundane at least three times a week. Except she has . . . oh, I don't know . . . is it five blogs and Twitter and Facebook? Or more? Or less? So it's really more than a blog three times a week. A bunch I would judge. Where does her time come from?
While I . . . I cast about my brain for something intelligent to say. It's not as if I don't have thoughts about things, but I'm not at all certain how coherent they are. And they tend often to be . . . shall we say "less than rosy." It's because I'm cursed with this raging contradiction personality. At the personal level I've got a sense of humor, I like to laugh, love baseball, take delight in my grandkids and kids . . . but then there's this other side. The one that's aware of history, that's been framed in a sense of the tragic. The last time my grandson TJ was over we got to talking about the future, and I really didn't have anything cheerful to say about it. Pretty awful to be dumping this kind of crap on an 18-year-old. But I cannot dissemble either. I don't believe things are getting better . . . and it kills me to think what's ahead for my kids and their kids.
The biggest fraud in the world is the politicians of this country, both parties, pretending that things are going to get back to the way they were. We're not going back there. And what they're doing is taking care of themselves and lying to the rest of us. The bastards.