Si se puede!

Big protests today. The first one was protesting the diminished role of the Virgin in our lives, the second one was anti-genocide. I was all fired up, hell yeah, this is social work, this is May Day, but now I'm facing another night of anxiety and sleeplessness, haunted by children and poverty. Other people's children, my poverty. I am angry that prayer isn't calming me, that everything seems to be getting more difficult, that even as I think I'm closer to where I want to be I keep thinking, fuck, this is fucking hard. This is difficult and I can't sleep right and the dumb luck that's been following me has gotten lost somewhere. All the ideas: living simply, picking the nobler job, the job that pays less, being immersed in others pain and joy, doing the right thing, I don't think I can do it, I worry that I'm bleeding myself dry. I broke a girl's heart today. I want more joy. Instead I'll have some waffles.

Back to the parades, featuring: a big papier mache Lady Liberty! These are horrible pictures, taken with my cell phone. I say it again: I love a parade. Girls rocking the Latin Style completely destroy me and then today, in addition their tight jeans, big unlaced sneakers, pulled-back hair, and dark lip liner, they had on shirts that said We Are All Immigrants. We Are All Americans. That is what Bratz Dolls should look like.

At the rally to stop the genocide in Darfur, Rev. Dr. Michael L. Pfleger tore the roof off the Federal Center Plaza. Maybe you thought there was no roof? You thought, no, no roof, just that giant orange mantis sculpture? Wrong. The roof was hypocrisy, and he fucking destroyed it. "Where is the Christian Right?" he thundered. "Drinking Pepsi and using Proctor & Gamble products!" replied a coworker. "If the houses of worship are not working to protect God's people in Africa, they should shut their doors." Alleluia.

In other news: I really must stop going to classy restaurants. Eldest Sister and her Best Pal were in town for a Girl's Weekend of shopping and dining that had been recommended by Rachael Ray. Whatever. Hot Chocolate was ridiculous. The service sucked and the mac and cheese was so rich I threw up on the way home. Eldest Sister got plastered, though, slept in for two days in a row and bought herself a sensible handbag. These are rare pleasures for the Modern Mother and so I will not hunt down the jackass bartender and punch him right in his neck.

And now, dearest friends, perhaps I will go to the desert, pish-posh my creditors eat grubs and be clothed as the lilies of the valley. Or maybe I will take some Benadryl and try to sleep.