October 3, 2012 (this day)

Downstairs, Carole has the presidential debate on, and I hear the word “taxes” waft up toward me.  Who should pay, how much?  Today, for work, I visited a psychiatric hospital where a young man is locked in while our so-called “system” tries to find something to do with him.

I’m not watching the debate.  I know who I’m voting for, and I find listening to anything having to do with politics disturbing.  I am way left of liberal, and there really isn’t a party or candidate who reflects my values very well.  Still, I’m profoundly grateful for the past five years and that I lived to see this remarkable happening and even watched a small part of it up close.

I’m very political and I’ve long understood that it is a character defect having to do with pride, arrogance, tolerance, and probably a whole host of others.  I cannot like someone whose politics differ in any important way from mine.  OK, that’s an exaggeration.  I cannot bond on some profound level with someone whose politics differ from mine.  And I generally dislike those people.  I have had a few, few, very few close relationships with someone with differing politics.  It’s very hard for me.

The other day my work partner gave me an interesting angle on this to think about.  There’s someone we know who I mentioned that I “like.”  My work partner said, “You like her politics.”  I love her politics, and it made me wonder.  Can I actually like someone who I otherwise wouldn’t, just because I like her politics?  I know the reverse is true, but I wonder.

The other thing I’m wondering about is Nanowrimo.  I’ve done it twice, and won twice, and I’m very tempted to do it again, and I’m also tempted not to do it again.  The discipline of writing 50000 words in a month has been awesome, and in many ways fun.  I’m wondering now if I can write all year long, rather than doing that marathon.  I mean, I know I can do it, but I’m wondering if I’ll stick to it, and if I’ll miss the shared experience of Nanowrimo.

And I wonder why I do it at all.  I like to write, but nothing will really come of it except the time I spend doing it.  Hm.


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