My struggles with LiveJournal have continued intermittently, and for some time I stopped trying. But the site seems to like my new computer better than it liked the old one, so I hope to start posting regularly again.
Finally, finally, finally, I am able to get into my LiveJournal account. It's been defunct for months, and every time I've contacted LJ to get it fixed, I was told there was nothing wrong with it. (Of course, I've been paying for the service all this time, but also could not get into my account to switch to the free version.)
I'm not sure why it's suddenly working, but it might be that I'm using a different browser.
What a relief.
Woo hoo! For weeks LiveJournal has been refusing to let me into my own page, saying I had the wrong password. Every time, I followed the link to reset the password. And every time I tried to get back in with a new password, it told me again that I had the wrong password. Today, for some reason, it finally works.
Now to go back and retroactively add the necessary posts for all the writer birthday entries I've missed.....
A few days ago I was driving down I-395, and was mystified when a State Trooper pulled me over. I knew I hadn't been speeding. As it turned out, my registration was not up to date. As soon as the trooper said so, I remembered what had happened. When the materials had come in the mail, we were planning to move before the due date. I didn't want to have to change the address so quickly, so I hung onto it, figuring I'd mail it in after we moved to the new address. And then we pushed our move ahead by a month or two, and I forgot all about the registration.
I pulled my license from my purse, and then reached for the glove compartment for my old registration. It wasn't until after I'd opened it that I realized what a luxury it was to be able to pull open the compartment without a second thought. If I were a black man instead of a white woman, I would first have to say something like, "The registration card is in there. Now I am going to slowly open the glove compartment to pull it out for you. Is that all right?"
And a black man in my situation would still have to wonder if he was about to be dragged from the car and arrested. Or beaten.
Don't get me wrong. I have no reason to think this particular trooper was racist, or violent, or a bad person. But if you're not white, you have to keep that possibility in mind all the time, and prepare for it. It's hard to imagine living with that level of fear and rage, all the time, every day.