Unbelievable to me that Drew continues to find oil like this and it's not being reported anyplace where it could actually make a difference. It's obvious that BP has no interest in mitigating the environmental disaster caused by their spill and all the average American seems to want is a return to "normal". A return I'm afraid will not be forthcoming. I'm going to let you in on a little secret: oil does not disappear - especially not that amount of oil.
I continue to ask myself, daily: "What can I do?" I have a real averson to facebook and haven't even given twitter a twit. I did recently rejoin facebook so I can see pictures of my nieces and nephew and keep up with my cousins in South Carolina. I'm thinking this information may get more attention there, so even though I don't like the medium, I'm going to employ it for the cause. As soon as I can figure out how.There are moments while looking at Drew's work that my rage can hardly be contained. I jump up from the computer and pace the floor, my heart racing with anger. I do some deep breathing and before I can even respond to the rage it's replaced by despair. A sinking feeling so deep you never get that final relieving thunk - it seems to go on, and on. Then I shrug it off and start looking around me to see what I can do - starting right here with my own personal environmental disaster. That's how I'm seeing my alcoholism now - as my own personal environmental disaster. For most of my life, for reasons known and not, I've responded to the polluting of my own system by my own hand about the same way BP is responding to the oil spill. Ignore it, cover it up, do everything right except stop the poison leak. Was it stupidity? Was it powerlessness in the face of a force stronger than my own will? Was it a deep desire to not wake up to reality?
Whatever it was, it's been relieved for the moment. That brings on a depth of gratitude which is the perfect remedy to the rage and despair that's bound to visit unheeded when you watch blogs like the American Birding Association's, when you stop to ponder just how and why we find ourselves where we are today: a nation that seems to not care. I don't believe that's who we are. And when I stop and ponder? Oftentimes, all I can come up with is the cowboy's favorite phrase: Fuck oh dear.
Fuck oh dear. Indeed. I remember that by all rights I probably shouldn't even still be here. I remember that joy is a choice away and the pain doesn't preclude the joy, it accompanies it. Always.