Not A Rant

Today, I feel like ranting. So I typed six pages of vitriol and invective, railing at the fat cats and lazy leeches, the gutless and the charlatans who are ruining everything.


It was a good rant.


Then I deleted it all.


You don’t need me to tell you what or who to be mad at, or even if you should be mad, scared, or catatonic. You already know. Everybody knows.


I wish I knew how to fix it. I don’t. I’m an optimist, but that doesn’t mean “substitutes hope for reality”. I look for good advice and bits of wisdom to pass on. For now, the best I can do is keep looking.

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