Dear Diary,
First, Rest in Serenity, Prince. Second, go to youtube and watch the tributes from tonight from the casts of “Hamilton” and “The Color Purple”. Two videos, one, amusing and cute, the other, chill inducing, just remember, that is a boy singing the first verse and chorus and wonder that there aren’t eunichs anymore. The sound of a young, male, soprano voice is so pure and golden, platinum, even. Radiant.
I’ve been busy this evening fighting with Social Saviors/Cops on FB. It all started with cultural appropriation, and I tried to keep my cool but my words got twisted, and I kind of lost it. I’m really just trying to figure out where this policing of other people’s actions is supposed to end. Is is okay to appropriate the culture that happens to be your own race, but in no other way is related to you in the least? When something has been used over and over again through history (my mom’s PhD studies in Theater Costume History helped me with this part), who gets the attribute? Who is it being stolen from? Do I get rid of my Asian art because it was acquired and sold by a conquering Asian country? I’m not Asian, so I didn’t conquer anyone to get the art, but am I tacitly supporting conquering hoardes by decorating my walls with it? I’m really not being a smart-ass, these are things I want to know, I need to know, to understand the rules, and maybe the logic behind them to see if I want to follow them. The details of it, I won’t bore you with.
I’m still waiting for Doc to get home. I hope he is in a good mood. I couldn’t nap, and I’m sort of short tempered. And he upset me so much this morning that I couldn’t eat all day, so I had to take my meds on an empty stomach which will be like taking half my meds. Stupid shit. If he would just read the letter, he would know the crux of all of my issues with him, the basis of it. Every time I try to tell him , it ends up in screaming over stupid shit. If he just reads the letter. I have such a hard time expressing myself verbally, I can only really communicate in writing. Where I can stop and think.