Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped watching the news and can barely get through the few articles appearing in the daily newspapers, but I’m losing track of time. The tsunami of nuttiness is relentless, and I can’t spend every day with my hands over my ears.
It’s not that I’m not busy, it’s just that my world is getting smaller and more focused after each disastrous story cramming the airways. Deliberate avoidance. A cosmic la-la-la-la-la.
The pond (world) in which we live is polluted with bad stuff. The past – for me, those halcyon high school years in the 60s – is beginning to look really, really good again. Simple, clean, ordered – at least on the surface. Get good marks, win that baseball/volleyball/basketball game without breaking anything, fries with gravy at National Bakery, cherry cokes, cheer on my hockey playing boyfriend, don’t stay out too late. Remember those days when we didn’t instantly know the body count of the most recent atrocity? I long for that not-knowing.
I used to love the news. But now, the relentless 24/7 news cycles on television and social media is wearing us all down. The end-of-worlders are gradually beginning to sound less insane than they used to a decade ago.
Disease, death, starvation, war, natural disasters. It’s all too much, dammit, even if they don’t affect me directly. Stabbings, kidnappings, murder, difference-bashing, cop-killings, hit-and-runs.It’s knowing about the suffering of others that’s getting harder to bear, because I can do so little about it.
Insecure, often sad people seeking their 15 seconds of fame shoot videos while they walk into traffic or on subway tracks while others tattoo every inch of their bodies and wonder why they can’t get hired in public-facing jobs. Insurrections, coups, drunken pilots. Zika mosquitoes, terrorism, currency craziness, climate change, sky-high ticket prices. Ugh.
Creativity is still good. So, for the next while, I’m going back to sewing, even though my wardrobe is already stuffed. I’m going to work on my books and do house and garden chores while listening to historical romance novels or Scottish noir with no social significance except for my entertainment.
Yes, I’m retreating into the world of things that make me laugh instead of cry. No cat videos or puppies, but escapism and silliness.
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