Trouble. Oh, we got trouble.
I’ll spare you the capital letters.
Why do we have trouble? Because the sabers are rattling. Iran and the U.S. continue to spit and claw, as they have done since the early seventies at least.
And me? I’m working toward typing the end on a novel, The Caretaker, but I got distracted this morning by the aforementioned sabers, and then by a ten-minute play that I’d put aside two years ago. I opened that document today on a whim (despite the warnings of Milo’s watch dog, I was “killing time”), and next thing I knew, I’d found that play’s proper ending, added a puppet, and made myself cry.
A few more tweaks and revisions, and it’ll be submission-ready, and that’s always an accomplishment.
That said, I suppose I won’t be sending it to any theaters in Iran.
It would be easier to bury my head in the sand, like the ostrich in the Flanders & Swann song. It would be easier, a la Pink Floyd, to be part of the turning away.
Instead, it’s time to pick up the phone and call my congressional representative. A lone voice I may be, but a voice must be used. It’s more than my right, it’s an imperative, and today, I will use that voice to try and avert the world’s latest war.
“Hell is other people” — but shouldn’t we do everything we can to make sure that isn’t so?