I am posting this as a reminder. A reminder to myself to stop apologizing for things that I can not control. Parts of myself that I can’t or won’t change. I don’t always know the difference but I am so sick of feeling sorry. Not sorry as in regretful of my actions but sorry as in worthless.
••••update.. not long after I posted this I was apologizing for something. Baby steps.
“Trump’s only true skill is the con, his only fundamental belief is that the United States is the birthright of straight, white, Christian men, and his only real, authentic pleasure is in cruelty. It is that cruelty, and the delight it brings them, that binds his most ardent supporters to him, in shared scorn for those they hate and fear: immigrants, black voters, feminists, and treasonous white men who empathize with any of those who would steal their birthright. The president’s ability to execute that cruelty through word and deed makes them euphoric. It makes them feel good, it makes them feel proud, it makes them feel happy, it makes them feel united. And as long as he makes them feel that way, they will let him get away with anything, no matter what it costs them.”
We could try to have a real discussion, you could tell me why you think what you think about how we can “make America great again” unfortunately I don’t have the time or the fucking patience to explain to you how wrong you are. I’m not the fuckface whisperer....
Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space