Sometimes, in a migraine season, you get to a point where what you notice is the absence of pain. You realize, all at once, that you do not feel terrible. You don’t think on this too long, because you know the pain will come back, but you rush to do whatever tasks you can within the parameters of that fleeting relief.
Why do we demand heroism from individuals and not accountability from the systems that ground them down?
There is a kind of tiredness that sleep does not cure. It’s the tiredness of grinding uncertainty. Of the certainty of unsettledness. Of the restlessness of the targeted. It is the exhaustion of dread.
How many lives are changed by 200,000 deaths?