On the night before the last day of the month I hadn't written anything for my May entry yet. So I planned to sit down and write for a bit. Maybe revise it the next day, that last day, and let it be. Very on the fly, which is fine sometimes, right? Old school blogging.
Then the phone rang.
It wasn't something bad for me directly. It's not remotely my story to tell. It was, though, the kind of story that takes up all the space in your brain.
As a result, this entry is going to be short. Not sweet, but short.
Rape culture is real.
Our votes are important.
Local elections are as important as national ones.
Consider trying to meet candidates for sheriff and judgeships in person. Look them in the eye and get a feeling for whether you can trust them. This is important everywhere but perhaps especially important in suburban and rural areas where candidates tend to be less progressive.
Because rape culture is real.
Because women aren't valued or believed when they speak out on rape culture and all it's far-reaching tentacles.
Someone said, "They should have taught us better."
I replied, "We're 50 years old. We are they now."
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