I called my dad again today, another long one — just him talking about the rally, how the new kids don't even know the words to the old protest songs. He's 68, still out there, bless his cotton socks. My guilt meter is OFF THE CHARTS, knowing I'm so far away, barely keeping my own shit together. I used to be SO into it, activism, you know? Now I just feel… dead inside, hearing him describe all these new faces I don't recognize. Like, where did the old guard go? Or me, for that matter? I should be there, but… whatever.