dispatches
a few notes from my journal
the house finally has a new speaker.
i had to google him. i recognize his district as the last place i received a speeding ticket and one of the emptiest places on the planet.
i’ve driven through it more times than i can count. and there's literally nothing.
i once got lost there and had to stop at what i thought was a hotel to ask for directions because there's no cell phone signal anywhere.
for two dollars, the old woman at the front desk sold me a hand-drawn map back to the interstate. when i asked if she knew where i could get some antacids, she offered to cast a protection spell on me against indigestion for another five dollars.
that's when i learned it wasn't a hotel, but a covenstead of swamp witches.
it's hard not to worry they're behind all this.
i’ve started watching what we do in the shadows. hilarious show. painful though. i see too much of myself in the energy vampire.
during my last conversation with my most recent ceo, he whined about my “energy.”
he said it in a strained, and desperate way. one i found exhausting.
a few weeks later, i asked for an update on the annual review he kept promising.
the next morning, he fired me.
i’m trying to think. did he ever bite me?
i wish i identified more with nadja.
goud calls, which is always nerve wracking. usually i'm the one who calls him, so i'm always anxious when he calls that one or both of the dogs has died or gone missing.
of course that’s never happened. every time he calls it’s the exact same thing: he can't find something in the house.
we haven't lived together for years but still i know where everything is and he can't see it even if it's right in front of him.
so why do i think like this? how can i stop?
this time i can tell he is crying when i answer the phone. he has a very specific crying voice, not blubbery or choking anything back, but distracted, like he’s been abruptly handed a complicated task while on the phone.
understanding that the call i keep expecting has finally come, my eyes well and my chest tightens.
“goud?” i ask.
“hey,” he says. but he can’t seem to focus on finishing his thought.
“hey,” i offer back. “it’s ok. it’s gonna be ok.”
when he finally collects himself, he explains that the dogs had a scrape with another dog on their evening walk. although the other dog’s nose had a minor cut, enzo and ricki are just fine.
at the grocery store this morning, a young girl in the seat of her grandmother’s shopping cart at the checkout counter reaches successfully for the candy display.
she leans sideways and fumbles her hand inside the peanut m&m box, trying to grab a bag. but the box is nearly empty, and she can’t seem to find purchase.
the grandmother and i watch.
i expect the little girl to abandon the effort.
instead, she grabs the edge of the box and pulls the whole thing back to her, struggling to get it over the edge of the cart, then setting it on her lap and pretending as if nothing happened.
“good job,” the grandmother says. “but remember: engage. don’t indulge.” she takes a single bag, offers it as a trade that the little girl accepts, and places the box back on the display shelf.
today, as i eat my lunch, i flip open a book on crisis management i’ve kept from grad school. the author explains at length that the media have a fixed set of narrative structures they know will get clicks and eyeballs. if the story doesn’t fit into those structures, they’ll do what they need to make it fit. if they can’t make it fit, they won’t cover it.
in a crisis, he explains, the media need a villain. all their reporting will be in service to finding that villain and reporting on their villainies.
it’s not something i agree with exactly, but i can’t deny it feels relevant each time i encounter mass media coverage of the current violence in the levant.
it also highlights my great frustration with international news, which is how rarely stories make a distinction between a country’s leaders, whether political or economic, and its people.
casual shorthand is the most frequent offense. journalists refer to specific politicians, institutions, companies and groups as the country itself because it’s just easier and seems to make sense. but it conflates groups between which consequential distinctions exist.
that’s problematic because understanding where the power centers are is crucial context for any meaningful understanding of what’s happening between that country and others.
yet media consistently conflate those who hold power within a nation and those who hold none.
in fact, those who hold no power don’t seem to really exist to media at all, unless their story is deeply shocking or wildly inspiring.
later, back at my desk, i read the transcript of an interview between nick schifrin and marc garlasco.
i learn that afghanistan, which is sparsely populated, is roughly the size of the state of texas. the united states lost the war there after dropping an average of 5,000 bombs on the country every year for two decades.
gaza, which is densely populated, is roughly the size of jersey city. israel just dropped more than 6,000 bombs there, in the space of less than a week.
i finish the transcript and turn on my npr app. the national newscast starts.
“the united states today is sending additional weapons and missiles to the middle east,” the host announces.
i shut it back down.
i have so many thoughts. but powerless as i am, i know my thoughts on a conflict half a world away, between two countries i’ve never even visited, simply don’t matter. they can’t shape events. they can’t help or hurt anyone involved in the fighting. they aren’t remarkable and so go unremarked on: nothing newsworthy.
still, i decide i’m sending them. i’m sending them to the middle east, wherever that is. i’m packing them in with those weapons and missiles right now, so that they get to the same place, the same person. whoever opens that shipment will find them all right there, along with single, equally useless prayer:
dear god, please make this stop.