“Reclaiming my time, reclaiming my time, reclaiming my time.” Maxine Waters
I just want to get the fuck out of here. I realize this statement, this fact, does nobody any good. You, who may be reading, or me, the one who is writing; nobody benefits from the anxiety-birthed words that invade my mind on a daily basis, sometimes hourly.
I just want to leap the hell out of here. I have a plan. Spain. I envision a small apartment, somewhere by the sea, within walking distance of neighborhood cafés where I will sip dry rosé, and wait for the evening flamenco performance. I will take a bus each afternoon to my flamenco dance studio, where I will practice what I learned from an online dance program during the year that never was—tangos, esquobila, alegrias, bulerias—that lost year riddled with pandemic restrictions, and the constant fear of total annihilation, inside and out, propagated and perpetuated by the psychopath who believes his treasonous, sadistic thoughts, words, and deeds. A thousand @the.daily.don nicknames (i.e. #klanchowder, #turdreich, #restingcrimeface) cannot adequately describe this non-human that the cultists let enter the People’s House, under a government who lacks the ability to change ancient rules (#abolishtheeltoralcollege) once meant to spread equanimity, that now only spread unfairness and, well, quite literally horror.
I want to stomp my way out of here. My brain, my body, my cowardly, ignorant neighborhood by the beach, this place that I currently call home, a place that has become as maddening for my privileged self as one can ridiculously claim. I am safe. I have a job. My family has remained (thankfully) healthy. And yet, still, with an awareness that these thoughts and feelings are unkind to those who have lost so much, I want the fuck out.
Once upon a time, writing saved me. Today, in late September 2020, there is nothing, nobody, no place where saving is possible. I am doomed to the prison of this hell that our country has become. Yet, with enough determination to get out of bed in the morning, I shall set foot on the fake wood floor of my bedroom, take in a breath, think about the tasks at hand, and work towards the goal of reclaiming our country’s time.
We must, every single one of us now, wake up with this one and only goal: Reclaim Our Country’s Time.
Dina McQueen practices the art of staying sane, and sometimes succeeds, through online Flamenco Dance class, Spanish Netflix soap operas, and copywriting for an organic herbal tea company. She lives with her husband and daughter in Carlsbad, CA.
Photo by Melany Rochester on Unsplash