I knew Massachusetts would be chilly, but I could never have imagined that it would drop below 50 degrees. I stepped in snow, and now my Birkenstocks are all soggy. It’s a nightmare. And it’s so windy, too. First, my AOC hat flies away, and then my hair gets blown around so much that I look like Trump walking to Air Force One. And with just as many important documents left behind. They call it “windchill,” and I’m just like, “Wind, chill!”
I don’t think the winter will ever end. I miss my warm home in California. I was excited to join a community of like-minded activists, but all I’ve found is an endless supply of virtue signalers. Our eco-leaders, for example, do absolutely nothing. They make a mockery of our cause every time they present. I’ve become ashamed to call myself an environmentalist. This is exactly why we need to ban gas stoves and fire the executives at BP, Gulf, Exxon, Aramco, PetroChina, ConocoPhillips, Qatar Energy, Chevron, Shell, and especially GazProm, and any other corporation that violates our planet’s beauty and our future generations. My Rockwell roommates are nice, but even they can’t distract me from the terrible cold or the horrible lack of Instagram activism here. Yesterday, I even heard someone question the legitimacy of our land acknowledgement. Clearly, these safe spaces are not safe enough.
I’ve started to shelter in Susie’s because it’s warm, and the prices remind me of home, but I still long for “The Hills.” As Bernie once said, “Difficult times often bring out the best in people.” I hope so.
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