My December to Remember 3: Day Fifteen
News: IDF soldiers kill three hostages after mistaking them for terrorists.
Chicago won’t allow “sanctuary city status” on the ballot.
Cop-hating former public defender promoted to chief of staff for L.A. DA George Gascon.
Fmr FBI intel chief who investigated Trump-Russia collusion gets four years in prison for colluding with Russia.
One of Sen. Ben Cardin’s staffers said to be on tape filming gay porn inside Senate Hearing Room.
I’m sick of 2023. Everything is just dumb and unsurprising, even as more atrocities reach our shorelines. What else is coming down the pike, I wonder? What more can anyone do to hurt us and our loved ones by this point? Just how much crazier are things going to get? And is all that going to flow and follow us into the new year? I keep feeling like we’ve only got a little bit more to endure before things can be made great again. There’s no going back to anything, the tide is ready to wash up something new. At least that’s what I hope, anyway.
There’s a certain kind of finality I feel when looking out at the ocean. I remember a couple years back when I sat on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. It was the magic hour where it’s still light enough to see, but dark enough to know night is approaching. The wind blew my hair all around me. I had a thrill of wearing nothing underneath my maxi dress. The waves were calm. The sand was cool, a reversal from it burning my feet earlier that day. I couldn’t help but feel like this was the end of something. This was the shoreline. The tip of land. There’s nothing else past where I was, just vast ocean until we hit another rock, but even that can’t be seen from the horizon. I get this way every time I look out to the sea. It just makes you wonder. And when the last bit of light goes out and I lay my head on the pillow, I feel something else gets put to bed, even as the waves outside my window never stop.
I struggled today because even I can’t possibly put into words what we’re seeing here. It’s all just so gross and weird and terrible and strange and wrong. The end can’t come soon enough. Mentally I’m back on those beaches, smelling the salt in the air, hearing the waves splash and feeling that calm that comes at the end of it. It’s a place where there is no fear, no bad news, no outrage nor hate. Just the end. The last washout. I’m ready as I’ll ever be at this point. The tide is turning. That’s all I’ve got.
