Faces of the Hostile
I am really, really down today. I'm on the verge of tears as I sit here,
for no reason that I can figure. I'm queasy today too. Don't feel like
eating any lunch. I get this sometimes, ever since the surgeries.
The Jolly Goth mentioned in a recent journal entry that he might be
getting weak, that he was worried about his reluctance to fight the condo
fascists over this ridiculousness they have unleashed. I don't see it as
weakness, though. I see it as maturity and wisdom.
We find out the hard way that there are some battles that you lose even
if you win. They contain hollow, useless victories. This is one such
circumstance. We could fight. We could win. But where would that leave
us? Living in a hostile place, and worse for wear from the fight.
To go and to make our paradise elsewhere is to spit in the faces of the
hostile. They can't have what we have.
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