Here, not writing

I’ve got curiously little to say. I’m mad but not manic about the state of the nation, and have little to comment on without raising my blood pressure. The squalid display of Capitol Pride has discouraged me from thinking DCs gays will ever do anything collective and constructive.

I’ve decided to pour some emotion — again, not despair, but more like restless energy — into cleaning my computer file and listening to Rimsky-Korsokov.

It doesn’t sound like much, but I can feel thoughts bubblings below the surface.

In any case, I’m here, just not writing much.

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