Why I didn't march last Saturday
I spent Friday 1/20 being a little weepy. No real excuse for it, maybe a little hormones, maybe a little herd sympathy. I had made a date with friends to meet and take the Blue Line up to LA to join the march. As the day approached I found myself getting more and more resistant to it. I thought about what was causing this. Then I realized the bubbling discomfort in my guts was my subconscious screaming for me to actually think about what it was going to be like: The crowds, the standing, the feeling of being corralled, and smothered. The lack of escape. I realized I couldn't handle it. I flashed on all the times I almost lost my shit in a crowded space. I've quit going to even medium sized venues, because I can't handle the press of human flesh. I almost passed out in the Tube in London. It was rush hour, the subway reeked of human funk, cologne, and mint gum. I found myself tipping my head back trying to find air that wasn't damp and dank from already being breathed....