I keep trying to walk away from Facebook and the news, to read or watch tv or play with the kids or clean — something constructive, or at least distracting. And I can’t, I just can’t. I keep coming back, compulsively. The Star Trek show I put on, the next in queue, turned out to be “The Expanse,” which centers on a terrorist attack. Two different sets of proselytizers came to my house within ten minutes, smiles on their faces, Bibles outstretched, and it took some effort of will not to shout at them, “Don’t you know what just happened?” It wasn’t their fault; I was polite. I sent them away. I cry and wipe the tears, and ten minutes later I’m crying again, and I suspect that will be the pattern for the rest of the day. I want to gather up all my beloved queer folk and pack them all into my house where we can cry and hug each other and lock the doors on a world that is changing, I know, but changing much too slowly, and at too great a price. Dr. King, can we bend that arc a little more acutely, please? We are in sore need of some justice. And safety. And love.