3% of the American populace is beyond salvation. Sorry, but it’s true.

For the first time in over four weeks, my guts don’t hurt. My Crohn’s flare is subsiding (though I had to take an Aleve for this fucked up Election Neck situation). Sarah and I just sent off the application for the house we hope to rent. Both of our jobs have OFFICIALLY cleared us to work remotely.

I move to Tucson on November 21st. What?!?!

Top five places I wanted to live when I grew up/when I was grown:

1. Chicago (obvious reasons)
2. Some small, seaside town in Ireland
3. Boston (it’s still one of my favorite American cities)
4. San Diego (the moment I “met” San Diego, I fell madly in love)
5. London

Top five places I’ve ACTUALLY lived when I was grown up:

1. Kenosha, WI
2. Chicago
3. Des Plaines, IL
4. Milwaukee, WI
5. Flagstaff, AZ

And soon, I’ll be adding a 6th to the latter list: Tucson.

Life is so strange.

I was talking to my therapist this morning, and we were laughing (because she does this, too) about how every time I tell people I live in Arizona, I frantically add, “But I’m from Chicago!” Because I never want people to think I’m from here.

But maybe now that Arizona behaved well in the election, I can take some pride in my accidental-but-actual home state.

Things I missed about Chicago/Milwaukee when I first moved to Flagstaff:

1. Lake fuckin’ Michigan (I will miss it all my life, and I’ve already told Sarah that when I die I want my body burnt and my ashes scattered in Lake Michigan; I need to make this wish legal should — by some highly unlikely chance — Sarah does not outlive me. Just putting it in writing on Medium doesn’t hold up legally, I think.)
2. Food. Not just hot dogs and pizza, but amazing soul food and every latin cuisine you could imagine and in Little Vietnam bahn mi sandwiches that forever ruined me on ANY bahn mi anywhere. And, oh, the Matzo ball soup at Benji’s Deli in Milwaukee . . . damn.
3. Noise. Chicago — city proper, I mean, not the ‘burbs — is SO LOUD at all hours of the night. I always liked the noise. I liked knowing people were out there, living, even if it was three in the morning and I was trying to sleep.
4. Culture. Awesome lit scene. Awesome theater scene. Amazing museums. Enough said.
5. Public transit that actually ran on a convenient schedule and could take you ANYWHERE in the city.

Things I will miss about Flagstaff:

1. The people. Everyone here, in our community (school and larger community) has been so good to us, particularly this year.
2. Seeing someone I know just about everywhere I go. This NEVER happened to me in Chicago or Milwaukee. Once the weekend started, I didn’t see anyone I knew unless we had made plans.
3. The seasons. I love fall and winter — particularly in Flagstaff. Never gets too cold and the heavy snows never stick around to get gross and dirty (sometimes, but not like in Chicago/Milwaukee).
4. The way the mountains look, snow capped, on an early spring day.
5. My school, obviously. FALA is the biggest thing, but I will be there AT LEAST until the end of the school year, and so my goodbye can be long and proper.

Also, unlike Chicago and Milwaukee, I can drive — in about 3–4 hours — from Tucson to Flag if I need a fix on my friends or that cold weather. Plus, if some miracle occurs and we go back in person, I will finish my contract by couch surfing with friends in Flag while I classroom teach (heads up, Flag friends).

I was done with Milwaukee when I left.

I was not done with Chicago. I was just broke and needed the job in Milwaukee.

I am not done with Flagstaff, but I need proper healthcare. Tucson has that.

Such is life in America.

(But oh my god — our rental house: 3 rooms, a sun room, a backyard, a DISHWASHER — I haven’t had a dishwasher since 2003. No joke.)

It’s Monday. I didn’t get a ton of sleep, but I feel . . . happy. Relieved. Focused. I know there will be adjustments (heat, for starters) and that sometimes I might feel lonely or as though I’m in a foreign land (as I felt upon moving to Flagstaff). But I felt these ways every time I took a risk and moved — whether to Wisconsin or Arizona. It’s part of the move.

We’re moving as a country, too. As I write this, Trump still hasn’t conceded, but we’re moving. Biden is the legit president elect. He’s already forming a team to tackle COVID. I can smell hope like a campfire in the distance. We’re moving forward.

And like any move (desired or not), we’re going to suffer a little. The world is new — at least I think America is/should be. We will have to leave some “old world” American shit behind, if we want to be better (“be best”?) and that’s going to be tough, that’s going to take some time. We’re going to have to box some shit up, give some shit to charity, and throw some shit away. We’re going to all have to ask for help. There are things that we will have to let go of, that we will have to miss and pine for, in order to heal. I’m sorry, but this is true.

We’re going to have to have some deeply uncomfortable, incredibly difficult conversations with each other. Difficult and uncomfortable conversations do NOT necessitate screaming and name calling. I know this as an educator. We can talk to each other without being punitive. We can address the tough stuff with good faith and grace. We must, or we’re fucked.

(White people — this means that you have to talk to other white people about race.)

(Men — this means you have to talk to other men about sexism/misogyny.)

(Straight people — this means you have to talk with other straight people about bigotry toward the LGBTQ community.)

(Don’t make the same mistake twice: don’t make the marginalised, those with less power and privilege, do all the heavy lifting.)

Like, for example, as a woman and a strident feminist (not the fun kind, usually), I am TIRED of explaining my oppression as a woman to other people — particularly men. Like, real tired of that convo. READ A BOOK. Christ, you have decades of feminist literature to choose from. USE THE GOOGLE.

That’s the only thing I can speak to. I don’t know what it means to be black or brown or indigenous. I don’t know what it means to be trans or super poor/housing insecure/homeless or to have grown up without a few decent adults in my life.

But I don’t need to speak to/for those experiences (I can’t) in order to fight for an America that is more equitable and just for everyone — even those people who have lived experiences different from mine. (Asshole caveat still applies: if you’re just a terrible broken, unmended, unwilling-to-mend-or-change person — well, I don’t have time for you. Most people, fortunately, while broken are mended — even if a little fucked up still.)

I see a possibility for America a bit like I see a possibility for myself in Tucson: Will I hate the heat? Fuck yea. Is the heat an unchangeable fact of Tucson? Yep. Can I do a damn thing about the heat in Tucson? No. Okay, then I’m not going to waste my time.

But can I get involved in border issues? Yes. Can I make sure people at the border, especially kids, are being treated like the human beings they are? Yes. Can I learn about Tucson and learn about what is working well and what needs to change and, as a resident of Tucson, work to change that which needs to change? Yes! I can’t change the heat (tragic, that), but I can be a part of the community, and work to make the community better for everyone.

I want to live around happy, well adjusted, well cared for people. They make better neighbors and friends. So what can I do, what can you do, to make the people in YOUR community happier, more well-adjusted, better cared for? A lot, actually.

For most of my life, I’ve viewed my work in education as an extension of my social work. (Students who’ve had me/have me currently know I am NOT shy about calling out “right” and “wrong” nor am I shy, if it’s warranted, about discussing American politics. I don’t lie in the classroom about the fact that I’m a lesbian. Nor do I lie, in the classroom, about what I think about standardized testing, or about the fact that I am unapologetically feminist.) I don’t share things in class to persuade students to agree with me (that’s called building a cult, and I have no interest in a cult — that’s too much fucking responsibility). But I try to model for my students what I think is good and just. I try to model what I feel is the way we should treat one another. I try. I sometimes fail. I am human.

When I was a little girl, my grandfather (a member of the Greatest Generation, a World War II vet) once told me — as many grandfathers have probably told children — “You must treat the janitor of the company with the same respect as you treat the CEO.”

It stuck with me. It was novel to me as a kid — growing up in a country that equated wealth, power, and race with goodness of character, with worthiness of humanity, I never thought that maybe the janitor deserved the same respect as the CEO not because they were as wealthy or well off, but because both were human. Because both deserved dignity. Because like everyone else, both will one day get sick and die and the people who love them will be heartbroken. So you’re as kind and deferential and polite to the janitor, who cleans up after your messy ass, as you are to the CEO who signs your meager check while making TONS of money for himself (it could be a “she,” but let’s be real). It was a simple, common thing he said to me, but it changed me. (Plus, I adored my grandfather — if he told me to go kill puppies, I probably would have; alas, he was a gentle, good man who never would harm anyone or anything, much less a puppy.)

Anyway, I like to think that maybe sometimes I say something to my students that “sticks.” Even if it’s not the most brilliant observation/piece of advice, I like to think that someday, the way three decades later I’m remembering my grandfather’s words, they will remember mine: and they will remember the right words, the words I was delivering when I was talking about how to treat people and how to make the world better for everyone.

That said, I’ve been involved in social justice my whole life. Started in college with feminist activism. Broadened over time. Broadened with experience — the more people you meet (especially those different from you), and talk to, the less likely you are to do something batshit crazy like vote for Trump a SECOND TIME. (I mean, really?)

In any case, find your way to help. It may not be your job (I got lucky). It may be a small group in your town. It may be a blog. It may be songs you compose, or videos you make. It might be protesting. Might just be raising your kids to be good people. You don’t have to run for congress (but if you’re a fundamentally good person, please run for congress — the country needs you!), but you have to do something.

Being neutral is being complicit. Stand for something. And if you stand for the wrong things (racism, homophobia, sexism, et al), work to change, and if you can’t change, if you can’t be bothered to put in the work, if it’s too “triggering” for you to acknowledge your racism or homophobia, etc., then just stay home, pay your taxes, yell at people on the internet, and eat food until you die. Seriously.

21% of the country voted for Trump (which is weird and sad, but a minority).

79% voted for Biden.

As far as saving this country is concerned, I’m going to take those odds.

You know what the odds of five year survival are for a woman with stage iv metastatic breast cancer (like me)?

15%.

I read that in a binder my doctor gave me.

Then I said, “fuck that. No one ever polled me to see if I’m still alive. I had cancer ten years ago. No one called to check and see if I was still around.”

I don’t put much stock in statistics, especially not where health is concerned, because they only make me nervous/paranoid, and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.

Still, I would have felt MUCH better if the “survival rate” was 79%.

That’s the survival rate for our democracy.

Those are good fuckin’ odds, unless the babyman-in-chief

decides to do some crazy shit between now and January 20th (21st?) .

Now how do we turn the 21%? I would wager that 12% of those are straight-up racist, paranoid, confused, poorly educated white Americans. The other 6% are people who have watched WAY too much Fox News or have consumed too much Limbaugh and are weirdly convinced that Biden/the Democrats are going to take their money away. 3% believe in the Qanon demonic sex cult thing and just can’t be helped.

A definite 3% loss. The others . . . well, there might be hope. We white folks need to work on those who can be saved. Let’s not leave that job to POC. Or, if their problem is say “abortion,” then men, you have to get in on helping women keep their bodily autonomy. Don’t put the whole fight on us ladies.

Anyway.

I’m happy today.

I taught good classes.

I had a great conversation with a student.

I’m moving in eleven days (into a MUCH better house).

My last PET scan was “clean.”

I have a fresh new haircut.

Nothing hurts right now (not even my neck because I took an Aleve).

Trump, despite his tantrum, is out.

Life is good.