Trapped

Trapped. I don’t emphasize that word enough in my posts. My middle-aged malaise is rooted in feeling trapped–trapped in a job I’ve outgrown; trapped in a 1-bedroom apartment I outgrew a long time ago; and now trapped in California because my rights are so utterly in peril in most other states. A year ago, I applied for a job in North Carolina. I’d never entertain that sort of move now. I can’t possibly move to a state where I’d have to hold my breath each time my rights are on a ballot. For all its faults and there are many, California at least isn’t backpedaling on LBGTQ people’s humanity. The irony of all this, of course, is that tenure, rent control, and progressive laws ensnare as much as they liberate me.