Lock Down

After months of intermittent sticking and freezing and generally giving me trouble, the lock on the front door finally gives up the ghost and seizes up completely. No matter how much I coax it, the mechanism won't budge and the key won't be removed. I call the locksmith and try to focus on the fact that it's a lovely, warm spring afternoon and that the door being open is doing no harm. It's the rare optimist part of me searching for a silver lining, I suppose, while the far more powerful pessimistic part of me is screeching that it's going to cost me an arm, a leg, and possibly my appendix.

Optimism comes hard to me in these days of despair over political chaos and a country I fear is deteriorating before my eyes. I see a future without clean air or safe water, where the rich will rule exclusively for their own kind, where there will be oil rigs polluting the oceans and national parks, where the marginalized will be the majority and skin color will determine your rights, your safety, and your very existence. The criminals win a little more each and every day and we're turning numb from the commonness of it all. Racism, corruption and ignorance have taken over. It doesn't trickle down anymore, it floods from above and washes over every right and honorable accomplishment. It cannot end well.

The lock, of course, is nobody's fault but my own. It was inevitable that it would fail sometime and I should've had it fixed months ago but I'm forgetful and easily distracted by more faraway disasters waiting to happen. Still, I'll bet if I thought long and hard enough, I could figure out a way to blame it on the current administration.

At least I still have my appendix and a mostly intact sense of personal responsibility.