(It turns out I’m a shitty activist.)

The night before the Women’s March here in Portland, Oregon, I am stoked. I think, “I can’t wait to march for women’s rights!” I mean, I didn’t think I’d have to in my lifetime, but I am feeling the spirit of my feminist foremothers, for sure. Maybe something feels a little off about this excitement, but I ignore the feeling and work on my sign….

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