Monday, June 21, 2021

The Limits of Home...

 

My home is not my pillow fort. It’s pretty hard to have a retreat where you also have a command center for activism and a writing desk. Also, still waiting for that wave of relief that competency in government brings, especially since I suppose it was a bipartisan decision to leave disability policy untouched for decades at a time. Many of the ‘grownups in charge” are also some of the same people who’ve been kicking cans down the road for much of my life, so I’m not exactly sure they could or will switch gears fast enough, so,  the relief is not as encompassing as advertised.

Self-care writing, like most writing about, say, getting  better sleep, is designed for people with space and mobility(Advice about not getting in bed until you are ready to sleep is not useful when you need help to get there, as well as the benefits of physical exercise.)
I watched Kevin Can F—Himself yesterday.  I thought it was funny and well-executed, but somewhat grim.(Hopefully, life between men and women isn’t quite that dark, not that I would know.) Also, I thought that in a lot of shows like that that I’ve watched(yes, I’ve seen an awful lot of them) either Kev or his father-in-law would luck into something that would replace the money he lost. The writer has a point about the man-children on these shows, I suppose, but they shy away from consequences overall, the better to bring the characters back to the same point every week.

I was also reminded of the times that Mom tells me she finds some episodes of “Everybody Loves Raymond” with the character’s devouring parents hard to watch.  “It’s funny, but sometimes it hits a nerve.”

My parents have been divorced longer than they were married, now.

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