It is true, that those who would seek for my nose to abide in Joy in the middle of a genocide won that round.

It is true, that they won because I abandoned the field in the middle of the contretemps.

It is true, that I am still pissed off about the Repurposing, and also at myself for leaving.

But life, pissed or unpissed, continues to unwind, and to provide for us both heartwarming cat pictures, and also chilling moments of First Peoples with no one at all to care for them piled up together drunk in an alley on the wrong side of the November glass.

It is not our job, mine or yours, to fix any of that.

We were put here to do what we can do in each emerging moment, and to remain awake to both the good and the bad alike.

Maybe there’s a way to do those vital things, in Reykjavik and Bratislava just as in Tucson and Tucumcari. I wouldn’t know about those exotic places. I’ve never seen them and I never will.

So the job of knowing, on that score, must fall to you, of a Sunday with winter coming on fast.

I would love to know how that part works out.

But I will not hold my breath waiting to hear.