Some time ago, I stopped writing regularly. The last thing I wrote was about four months ago. I don’t know what to do to “reignite the spark.”

A lot of what is driving this is just despair. Quite frankly, I think that anyone who looks at our country today and doesn’t feel at least fairly worried isn’t just not paying attention, but existing in an entirely different reality. Despair is not a useful emotion, I know that, but I seem stuck. I go through my day feeling like I am in a horrible dream, or a screenplay so bad that Hollywood would reject it as being unrealistic.

People are dying in America at the hands of armed thugs who hide behind masks and authority and the government blames victims for their own murder. Our president has kidnapped the head of state of a sovereign nation, and boasts of stealing their natural resources — oil — for our country. People in power at one point recently were talking openly of invading and taking by force the territory of another NATO member country, destroying a military alliance that has lasted for decades, with security costs to the US that are almost incalculable. (If NATO disappears due to American aggression, we would almost certainly lose our military bases in Europe.)

The president suffers from dementia, of that I am sure. He is a sad old man who unfortunately has the wherewithal to make his fever dreams reality. He is surrounded by enablers, both his Cabinet and his supporters in Congress, who are more than willing to give him what he wants.

Writing about the president seems overwhelming. But I have been told that the way to resume writing is just to write,

So maybe I will just write.

This past weekend I attended a memorial service for someone who died by suicide. It was especially hard for Railfan (who is in a railways operations program), because our friend killed himself by throwing himself in front of a train. It was remarked that the man, who was known for trying to not be trouble to people chose a manner of death which resulted in significant trouble for lots of people, including perfect strangers. Something that has kept me from doing likewise over the years is a desire not to cause some hapless train engineer to suffer PTSD.

I cannot promise that I will never kill myself — that’s a hill I climb often — but I promise to try not to. I promise to go to the hospital if I recognize that I am a danger to myself. If it helps, one of the reasons I have not killed myself yet is that someone would be traumatized by having to deal with my body, or my suicide might (as in the case of deliberate car crash) put others in harm’s way. I cannot justify that ethically. I can’t see that changing.

I am watching the winter storm running across the country with concern. I have family in Mississippi who are experiencing ice storms and power outages, and my daughter in Pennsylvania is facing windchill of -3. Brr.

I worry about my trans daughter in Pennsylvania, and my immigrant daughter here in California. At one point during a lunch recently my daughter-in-law and my son lapsed into Korean, and I wanted to say “Don’t do that!” Not that I cared what they were saying, but because speaking anything other than English can be dangerous these days.

The weather is lovely — low sixties and clear. I just wish it would rain more. I love rain. We *need* rain.

Those disjointed thoughts are all I am capable of now. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.