I am beginning to realize just how important it is to put good things into my head first thing in the morning, and by good things I mean not frivolous sixties-TV frippery, or spam emails, or random porn, or anything else that amounts to an indulgence.

Scott Carrier is sounding shaky just like I’ve been, except that he’s hit the road where I’m happy to stay huddled, he’s making friends on the other side of the culture war where I have no use for them still, and in order to do his work he needs people to not care about wearing their masks, where I’m pissed off that they’re not.

On the night following this one he will report again for twelve minutes from Standing Rock, where four years ago they were protesting. I will be reminded that I was teaching proper then, up on the Rez, talking with students who were headed north to join the resistance. I’ll recall vividly watching the veterans who were supposed to be the protectors and the militia wing, and sending them a donation.

But what to experience in the mornings?

What to remember, from four years ago …