This morning my running partner was Lou Reed. He captured just the right mix of rage and awe to describe the fucked-up, amazing, cruel, gorgeous state of being that is my life today.

This world it breaks my heart. We are birthed. We love. We are left behind. We die.  All while Facebook screws with us and kids get kidnapped because they’re Jewish or Palestinian and the Antarctic ice sheet is going and the Supreme Court has shoved its man-fingers up my crotch.

And cancer.

Fuck. It makes me swear blue and cry red. Leave my people alone, I want to yell.

I may be a forty-three-year-old white lady loading kids in Subaru wagon, but as I grieve the death of my father-in-law and the pain of my husband, punk is the only soundtrack I want.

Send me your best tracks, people. Consider it a condolence offering.