I do not delude myself that anyone cares what I think. But you do have to care about my new rule.
If you’ve read me awhile, you know that one thing I try very hard to do is allow both sides of an opinion. I’ve had a few blog posts over the years where I say, “Today we’re going to say something nice about the other side. If you cloak your praise in sarcasm or backhanded compliments I will delete you.”
I deleted a sweet 90-year-old woman because she could not say one nice thing about the other side. And by the way, her other side was my other side.
People digging in and being convinced they’re right is my least-favorite thing and in my opinion the cause of all strife in the world. As a liberal, I know that every single thing I think may not be right. If you’re conservative, please know that I know you are right sometimes.
I do this exercise with myself and oh, it’s painful.
I read other opinions. Measured ones. The latest example is that I went to reputable breeder websites. Yes, I just called them reputable. I did it while we’ve been locked down. I looked at breeders, dog breeders, cat breeders. As someone who not only volunteers for the shelter and who just goes to the shelter in her off time for yucks, breeders are … not my cup of tea.
But what I do is ask myself, “Am I wrong? Could any of what I think be wrong?” and then I go look at the opposing side and get mad and sweaty and my heart races but keep looking anyway. It’s important to me.
Adopt don’t shop is something I dearly believe. But maybe my opinion is wrong. It’s true. It might be.
I tell you this because it’s how I usually think. It’s hard, and I get very angry, but I know the basis of all anger is fear. Fear that I might be wrong. Fear that I might be right and unable to change things.
So, really. I try to see both sides.
The last thing I’m going to do is be the condescending white savior lady and link you to sites where you might read things about racism to change your mind. If you’re a, “But all lives matter!” person you already don’t think you’re the problem and you won’t click any links. I know this.
So the only thing I can do is say this: I know George Floyd did not deserve to die. And while I have always welcomed all opinions, there will be no “All lives matter” comments here. There will also be no, “But why did they…?” Nope. Go tell it somewhere else. I won’t have it here.
That’s the first time I’ve not allowed other viewpoints—as far as I can recall, anyway—in 13 and a half years.
That said, my beloved downtown is hurt. Kit’s shop survived it, and she boarded her windows for now. She also said numerous times on her social media channels that the people destroying stores downtown were not black protestors.
That’s all I gotta say about that.
In other news, and is there actually any other news? Oh, right, we’re having a pandemic. That pesky thing.
At some point last week, the Fiat dealership called. They sold my teensy baby blue car, which will always be my favorite car ever, and they wondered if I had the spare key. I did! So I got my mask that best matched what I had on and drove down there.
Look how dusty everything looks. God. The camera adds 10 pounds. Of fur.
Anyway, the irony is the location of the dealership is the same street that my accident was on, so I had to screw up my courage, put on what was apparently a cat-fur-covered dress and head out into a pandemic and also Danger Street.
So that was relaxing. But I made myself do it, because the longer I’m in here scared the harder it’s gonna be. And I had been getting less scared of a car screaming into the back of me and then all this crap happened and it reared its head again. Reared its rear end again.
My most consistent relationship has been with anxiety.
Anyway, I headed over there, and both my yellow MINI Cooper and my baby blue Fiat are sold, and someone is going around driving MY cars. I bemasked myself and headed inside, and there were all the car dealers just unmasked as the day they were born, unless they were born to Zorro or what have you.
So I stood 87 feet from the dealer. My six feet is everyone else’s 87 feet. The dealer remembered me, since I’ve bought, you know, TWO cars from there in a year. Once I had a box of newborn kittens with me when I went in there to get the title or license plate or something, cause I was coming to or from the shelter on that same street. So I sort of stand out at that dealership.
As if being the yahoo who bought two cars in one year doesn’t make me stand out enough.
Since I was already out and about, I decided to go to work. I know! Festive.
I drove all around the building, and my nine years of memories there came flooding back. Here’s where the farmer puts up his stand on Fridays and sells me my strawberries, which I dearly miss.
Here’s the tree where Austin and I tried to save Squirrelly Maclaine.
There’s the entry to the park, where we take our 3 o’clock walks.
I even went inside, where I see people have added to the collection of solar figurines.
My desk calendar is still on February. There were signs up about distancing and washing your hands, left over from when people were still going to work but we knew the plague was upon us. I noted with some glee that no one stole the hand sanitizer on my desk. Good job, coworkers! I’d totally have stolen my hand sanitizer.
I took it with me, along with the Frida Kahlo nail polish my coworker Jane West gave me, so I can do my own pedicure. SIY. Screw it up yourself.
I took a fine, sharp shot of that polish. I used the June Gardens 2010 Photography Seminar Commemorative Camera. And yes, I do have a framed photo of myself that reads, “Her Royal Cuteness.” It was a gift from TinaDoris before she left. Plus also I just liked framed photos of m’self.
Anyway, it was nice to get out and about, and it’s a sad day when your out and about is going to an auto dealership and walking around your empty office. Now I gotta wait two weeks to see if either outing killed me.
That’s all I do now, wait two weeks to die of outings or visitations.
I’d better head to work, and by “head to work” I mean turn on my work email whilst I stay exactly where I am. I did buy one of those beanbag-bottomed desktops to hold my laptop and phone and I’m the very height of work-at-home sophistication now.
Elegantly, as elegance is learned, my friend,