Sometimes you have to let the train crash

In theory, when my life is free of conflict, there shouldn't be much to write about. Maybe today is one of those days. I haven't had any arguments, nobody has upset me, I don't think I've upset anyone else (no more than usual, anyway), and mostly everything is going well for me. It seems odd that my perception of how my own life is going is so different from my perception of how life on the planet is going, as if I'm standing on some other planet observing the ongoing implosion of human civilization. It's kind of sad that humans feel compelled to take everything down with us, but nothing is really precious if everything is precious. Stardust comes and goes. 

I have no idea what to think or say about the unfolding human train wreck. We've always been greedy, lustful, ambitious creatures. We've always separated ourselves into predators and prey. We've always felt as if we were the center of the universe. The multiverse. As if there could be no species in the universe more intelligent than us.

Sometimes writing about something helps me understand it, but in this case, the conundrum of why humans seem to hate each other so much is beyond my comprehension. I don't have the energy to try to figure it out. I definitely don't have the energy to hate anyone, no matter how much I might find reasons to do it. I just don't care that much, I guess. 

Maybe this is despondency. Maybe it's denial. Maybe I've finally reached the Zen-like state of detachment from ambition and greed that my mother achieved through dementia. Hm. Maybe this is dementia.

I thought I had a blog topic for today, but I didn't write it down, so of course, I lost it. My ability to remember things fails more than half the time now. I sometimes feel resentful when I hear about people twenty years older than me whose minds are "sharp as a tack." That's the phrase I usually hear. A failing memory is not entirely bad. I've already forgotten my resentment. I don't have the energy to berate myself for my failures. I think I've finally reached the Zen-like state of detachment from . . . wait, did I already say that? 

How do you cope with uncertainty? Do you tell yourself it doesn't matter if you don't know what is going to happen, you can't control it anyway? Do you imagine you are an empty boat on the river of life, going with the flow with faith and trust that everything is unfolding as it should? 

Yeah, me neither.

Usually, it feels better to say, I knew this was going to happen . .  the fatalist's view. Or, how bad could it be? Maybe it won't be as bad as I fear. That's as close to Little Mary Sunshine as I can get. Or, my favorite (Debby Downer): Who cares, it doesn't matter, we're all going to die. 

The universe survived just fine before I existed, and it will go on without me.

I don't like to think of all the suffering that will most likely be coming over the next few years. Knowing humans' ability to whitewash, gaslight, ignore, and avoid, no matter how bad things get socially, environmentally, financially . . . some of us will always be ready to point the finger at someone else and say, it's all your fault. Some of us can't accept that we might be at fault. The pain of admitting our wrongs is worse than the pain of watching everything fall apart. 

So, here's what I believe. 

• All borders separating nations should be abolished. 
• All white people should undergo mandatory abortions.
• People who make a lot of money should be taxed at a higher rate, and the funds should be distributed to lower income people and used to provide infrastructure, safety nets, and services that benefit everyone.
• The climate crisis should be treated as an existential threat. 
• Everyone deserves adequate healthcare, food, and shelter, no matter who they are or where they live. 
• Kids should learn civics in school. 
• The moment they invent a vaccine for stupid, we should all be forced to get it, whether we want it or not. 

Don't hold me to any of this. I won't remember it tomorrow. 

Another day of fresh WTF

I'm back in Tucson, just in time for the big October warmup. Fall weather here is unpredictable. Eventually it will cool off. Then the days will be lovely, and the nights will be freezing. When you live in a car, weather matters. It's kind of all you think about. Today was about 80°F, hot in the sun and nice in the shade, which is why I'm back at my office, the underground parking at the mall. 

Tucson has a mountain. It's pretty tall. Like, tall enough to have snow in winter. It's just over 9,000 feet. Locals go up there in the winter to ski. In the summer, they drive up there to escape the heat in the valley. Hiking trails go all over the mountain. There's a little town somewhere up there, so I hear. I've never been. 

I don't care about the little town. I hear it's packed with sweltering Tusconians. I don't mind that they might stink with sweat. I just don't like hobnobbing with the hoi polloi, or anyone else. No, what I care about is a safe, cool place to park overnight. I have heard there might be dispersed camping up there. It's national forest land, which means technically you can park up there for free for either seven days or fourteen days, if it's not designated as private land. I'm a little nervous. I have a feeling it's going to be another one of those dirt/gravel road situations: steep grind in and hell skid out, with no place to turn around, and woe to me if it starts raining. I'm sort of over off-roading in a minivan. Really. There ought to be some sort of law. 

Speaking of voting, I mailed my ballot yesterday. I was going to drop it off at a library in Oro Valley. I mapped to the place and found out the dropbox won't be deployed until tomorrow. Rather than sit on the ballot another two days and then drive 45 minutes to any dropbox in the city, I put it in an actual mailbox at an actual post office. Fingers crossed. 

Speaking of WTF, the head med is not working well anymore. Ever since that low pressure front moved into Prescott (that was last Monday), my head has been back to non-normal, meaning the washing machine and the typewriter are at it again, chipping away at my serenity. Needless to say, I'm going to give that neurologist a good talking-to. Stay tuned.

Oh, lord. Time out. Someone has cranked up Billie Eilish on their car stereo. In this underground parking lot, the song bounces off the concrete, creating a wall of cacophony. I can feel the bass in my gut. There ought to be a law against this, too. Well, I can hardly complain. It's probably another nomad seeking respite from the sun. No. Spoke too soon. Just two young women, enjoying their favorite song before they lock up their cute shiny car with heavily tinted windows and go shopping for cute shiny handbags at Dillards. With so much room in this underground space, I don't see why other drivers have to park right next to me. There ought to be a law. Remember the six-foot rule?

Speaking of the six-foot rule, yesterday I was at a park and saw the beat-up camper rig of a nomad couple I used to see regularly last spring. They have signs all over their camper and truck: No trespassing, smile you are on camera, and practice social distancing, keep a six-foot distance at all times. I was sad to see that summer had not been good to their camper. The trailer part extending over the cab slanted askew at a new and terrifying angle. It looked like they had strapped it together with one of those cargo strap things. 

I wanted to ask them where they park overnight here in Tucson. I haven't seen them at Walmart. As I was gearing up my courage, a young man rode his bike along the bike path and stopped next to the camper. He apparently took a substance of some kind. Within minutes he was sacked out boneless in the dirt. The woman in the camper got out of the cab and shook his shoulder a few times and then got back in her truck. I guess she thought he was okay. I kept waiting for EMTs to show up, but they hadn't appeared by the time I left to find my parking spot for the night.

This morning I was at the park again, making coffee and waiting for the farmer's market to open. The kid's body was gone. Around 10:00 a.m., the camper pulled up and parked in the shade.