We saw Pacific Rim this afternoon. The 3D glasses were remarkably like ski goggles and they hurt my face, leaving an imprint that lasted an hour. I fell asleep a little bit, which I almost always do in movie theatres, but was simultaneously sort of scared. An unsual combination of feels. It did not make sense to me that monsters who came out of the sea should have such scaly, dry looking skin. (I am obviously focused on the wrong things.) It always strikes me as strange that my husband makes these kinds of things as a career.
I ate Triscuits for dinner, which was fantastic. Triscuits are one of my favourite things to eat. I like it when no one notices that I am eating them for dinner instead of the kinds of things that other people think are supposed to be dinner food. I also ate a giant dill pickle that was so cold it hurt my teeth. (I do not mean to make it sound as though I have an eating disorder. I don't.)
The Trayvon Martin thing is impossible to discuss. Will Americans riot tonight? I hope not. Enough pain has been wrought already. He was only seventeen, which is the same age as my grade twelves who are so frightened of growing up. SZ has been writing to me asking advice about aquiring a doctor's diagnosis over the summer before she starts university. I am proud of her for finally taking this step toward self-advocacy. And wish she had taken the help sooner.
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I've been studiously avoiding the Trayvon Martin issue. Too sad and discouraging.
I love Triscuits with cheese and olives. For dinner. Mmm.
It's awful, isn't it. But it is difficult to avoid the issue if you connect with any kind of media these days. It's everywhere. And I guess I am glad that it is, glad that people care enough to be angry, but it all seems so futile. And then it bothers me that I find myself succumbing to the numbness instead of wanting to do something about it. But I don't know what to do. Round and round.
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