Like a swarm of wasps, a black brooding cloud amassing on the horizon, their drone getting louder and louder until it’s just noise and difficult to pick out any individual sound, the news is on the background, voices droning on and on; carrying with them a sense of foreboding; a feeling of anxiety of what will come next: debating, disagreeing, depressing – louder and louder as they seek to get their message heard.
Like a hot chili tomato soup, simmering on the stove, their negativity sends a fizzing, fiery heat slithering inside to swirl in my stomach – simmering, spitting, bubbling, then boiling over. Enough! Turn it off! Slam down the pen; grab the remote control; jab at the OFF button. Peace at last! The fiery heat seeps out of my pores: calm after the storm. Where’s Captain Tom with his hope, pride, positivity and dignity?
If I hadn’t already turned the news off back in April, your firey description of the negative impact the frustration is having on you would certainly convince me to turn off the noise. 😖
Take care of you and let me know if any signs of hope make it through, please. 🙌🏾
Strangely enough, I started playing around with a poem about hope yesterday while I was helping out as a building laborer. Clearly, I need to get fitter as I came in and fell asleep. I managed to roll out of bed this morning, and am perched gingerly on my chair, trying not to move too many parts of my body while I type.