The Hulk Inside Me

My sister, Erin, is sheltering with two of her daughters in their apartment outside Phoenix. Her other daughter lives with her in Fountain Hills, and she has a newborn baby as well as two young girls. For their safety, Erin is staying away as long as possible. She texted tonight to say she's started a YouTube fitness routine and she and my nieces are organizing their apartment.

I wrote back that I wished I was getting stuff done, but it's mostly been laundry and food.
And sanitizing.
And school work.
And fixing the internet.
And picking up and mailing medications to Cap's parents in Florida.
And monitoring the college kids and their needs.
And following up on their job applications because everyone is out of work.
And worrying whether The Captain will lose his job.
And going to my job, because I still have one.

And being angry.

I am not limiting my exposure to social media or the news, but I never willingly watch President Douchebag. I cannot stand the sound of his voice as he stands there and lies about every aspect of this pandemic. People are dying and his only concern is the economy. His cronies are suggesting we grind up our grandparents in the capitalist sausage machine, as if their deaths will somehow stop the utter collapse of our financial and healthcare systems.

I say this as someone whose family relies on a retail corporation to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table: this idea is evil.

The president is evil. His co-conspirators are evil. This government is evil.

"Evil" is an old-testament kind of word that gets dismissed as hyperbolic, but I am at zealot-level rage. I'm Bruce Banner's secret. As a person who was raised a Christian, I've been struggling to reconcile the directive to love my neighbor with my moral imperative to recognize and reject Satan and all his empty words. It's an actual promise we made when we baptized our children. President Douchebag is not smart enough to be Satan, but he's a conduit for his works. So shouldn't I wish him dead?

Satan and I have met before, most notably during my active addiction. I like to think I can recognize his coy whispering in the world. But if my profound sense of helplessness unmoors me to the point of wishful murder, then that sneaky motherfucker may be winning a little closer to home. I'm going to have to stick with my current plan to love the people near me A LOT and hope it radiates out to the world. Possibly like the Death Star. Hovering over The White House.

Arrggghh. Jesus made shit hard.

Tonight I asked Cap if I could paint TRUMP IS KILLING US on a tarp and nail it to the roof. He said no, because it's a new roof. We agreed I could paint a sign for the front lawn. It's a way to express my frustration without hurting anyone.

I hope my neighbors love me.