New Year, Old Me

I need to get better at doing these things, I know, but in all the noise, from all corners of the world—from a house to a job to a relationship to politics to whatever is in my head—finding space to sit down and coalesce that noise into something coherent is not a skill I’ve yet mastered.

But, if you may not have heard, net neutrality has been overturned. It won’t affect California and maybe other states will enact a similar law.

What does this mean for most of us?

The internet was a beautiful idea. An open forum, a place to share and to communicate, to bridge borders and challenge ideas. Social media changed that into something brutish, nasty, demanding. A place for connection, sure, but a marketplace to sell a version of yourself, made worse by a pay for play and snake oil peddlers.

I’m not disparaging the whole thing. There are beautiful people and beautiful moments and bridges were built, some of this because of net neutrality. Access was relatively unfettered, if you had the infrastructure and access ability.

Under this new ruling, internet providers can now throttle content they don’t like and charge differing amounts paid by service (Time Warner which is Ma Bell resurrected (and its actually, literal, successive company), will surely be posed to know how to use this).

So, what do we do?

Well, we lobby our state and federal officials to create laws similar to California, although, like with abortion laws, that will lead to a patch work style of internet access and freedom (much like how Florida woke up January 1 needing to scan an ID to access porn sites—another law that affects a variety of states).

Alternatively, I think we go back to Livejournal style of living. Blogs and blog groups. Finding other blogs with which we can connect, people with whom we can form relationships. Without being sealioned or gaslit (ideally). Bring back those RSS feeds.

Which brings me to my title. New year, same me.

Still as political as ever and I think I’ll only get worse. Still plugging away at three different works in progress now, maybe a fourth, apparently the noises in my brain are winning, but sitting down and doing the work is not.

Still reading. Still bitching about taxes and tax policy (only going to get worse and I highly recommend giving ITEP a follow if you are interested in a fair tax policy).

Still hating on AI and using it only for very small tasks. As a neurodiverse person, I like goblin tools for helping me judge the tone of something or turning my ramblings into a concise message. Other than that, its a copyright and environmental disaster.

I’m reading two books right now: a historical romance For the Duke’s Eyes Only, about which I am wavering about finishing; and, Kate Morton’s Homecoming which is deliciously good. I also have Kate Quinn’s The Briar Club next on deck. I wonder if this is the year where I’ll read more literary fiction.

I know we’re entering a dangerous time. It’s frightened. I’m frightened. I also see the gears of capitalism turning. Rents turning up so that small businesses are becoming unsustainable. Big trad publishing companies moving toward becoming a vehicle for the already well known, the rich, the white, and for popular indie pubbed books. The world feels a little bleaker, a little meaner, a little less hopeful.

But hope is not a thing that is all light and joy. I loved The Last Jedi and Rose’s line, “This is how we win. Not fighting what we hate, but by saving the things we love” is the thesis of the entire nine movie series1 and how we should approach this fascism2 and about how hope works. You develop hope by fiercely hanging on to what you love.

Save what we love, like books and vaccines and education and people.

Most of all, people.

It’s overwhelming. I cry a lot. I feel as if my voice is a thin reed lost in a deluge.

But still we try.

Still, we damn ourselves to hell.3

Still, we savor the small things.

The way my husband smiles as he kisses me. The way my kid doesn’t kiss me, but instead presses his soft cheek against mine, his hurried “love you mom” as he thunders up the stairs to bed. The laughs and joys in my little chat groups with my friends (little because they are intimate, not little in value). All the recipes we share and drooling reactions to delicious food snaps. The bright sharpness of a homemade tomato pepper soup. The earthiness of gingerbread cookies. The delight of a warm floral perfume against my skin. The simple joys in explaining to people why their decisions messed up their taxes and how to fix it.

So, new year, same me.

On that same path toward embracing sentimentality. If I said some nice things about Viriginia Woolf last year, well, you know, we’re all allowed to try new ideas out.

I’ve got to light out for community and hope and stories. I can’t go back to that darkness, I’ve been there before.

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