Can I be really honest about something?
Lately, blogging has been something of a struggle for me. You may have noticed the drop in posts. Getting involved in bookish Twitter (something I have always been pretty shitty at) is harder than ever.
I’m rarely in the mood to read, let alone write about reading.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. There is one thing I am reading a whole bunch of. Even after floating the idea of taking a break from it, it’s all I’ve done all day.
All I can read and think about and care about right now is the news.
Specifically news as it relates to the ‘alt-right’ or the Nazis, to use their proper name – can we please not Voldemort Nazis? You really have to name that shit when you see it.
Yesterday I read about how in the UK (where I live. Where I get to be an adult in a ‘Brexit Britain’ I did not vote for while all the old people who did vote for it die and/or retire – yes, I am bitter), UKIP (our Nazis) voted in a new leader who is exactly the sort of threat the mainstream parties have been afraid of. I have a history of not taking these people seriously. I take them seriously now.
Then this morning I have been reading all about Tom Price, Trump’s anti-abortion (anti-women, anti-poor people, anti-anyone who isn’t a rich white guy, I assume) health secretary.
Side rant: Being anti-abortion is a fundamentally nonsensical position. Abortion exists. It does not stop existing because you make it illegal. What happens when you make it illegal is that then women seek illegal abortions, which leads to them doing things that seriously endanger their health and can even kill them (before Roe V. Wade about 5000 women died in America a year as a result of botched illegal abortions). Also, making abortion illegal really makes no difference to the amount of abortions performed per year. My suggestion to those who consider themselves ‘pro-life’ (although, when you have a stance that in developing countries is the leading cause of maternal mortality, I don’t really know how you can consider yourself that) is to not have abortions. Have all the babies, or none of the sex. And then leave everybody else to get on with their lives, legal abortions and all.
Then. You know. Syria. And the total empathy gap there is toward refugees, wherever they come from. The way that, in the UK right now anyway, we are suspicious of young people who just want to live (live as in NOT DIE, not live as in like, the way I consider ‘wanting to live’ which mostly involves not being a waitress any more) because what if they are lying about being under 18?! I don’t understand how we are somehow as a country guilt-free because the person who died because we won’t help was 19. Or 58. Or freaking 90.
Um. We’re not.
I don’t want to say that in the context of all of this none of this – I’m mean blogging – matters. I don’t want to feel that way. I love doing this. Usually.
This post doesn’t really have a conclusion. I’m not going to stop blogging – honestly I’ve worked too hard on this thing over the past year or so to quit just because I’m going through some weird emotional stuff. It’s just difficult to blog about books when you’re struggling to… you know, actually read any.
You’ll know I’ve hit rock bottom when I start reviewing the news, instead.