Let Me Clear My Throat

I called my senators today.

I called them about a few acts that are coming before Congress, and a part of the president-elect’s cabinet I think is bad for our nation. It’s the first time I ever called an elected official, and I feel pretty good about it.

I mean, as political engagement goes, it’s getting up there in effectiveness. Writing a letter/email/tweet/blog post/FB post isn’t nearly as effective as a phone call, which again, isn’t nearly as effective as a face to face. But we’re baby stepping. Never mind that I’m not registered to vote in this state. Yet. I’m here now.

After I got off the phone I immediately began my victory jam: Let Me Clear My Throat.

It became my victory dance after one fateful sunset that my tire blew on the highway in East St. Louis. My phone was dead, and there aren’t many pay phones in East St. Louis. I had a jack and a spare, and I did it myself. I was so fucking proud. It took me forever to get the car up and down and I cut my knuckles, but I felt like such a badass. And there on the shoulder, in the dark, I did this victory dance.

I danced until the tow truck some Good Samaritan had called for me pulled up behind me and I waved to him like, “No, thank you. I got this.”






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