I had a blog post idea. I planned to rant about how people (“those people”) don’t have a right to complain about violence in politics if they are willing to accept kids getting shot in schools. I was thinking I’d write about how we as a society broke after Sandy Hook. Pundits were so horrified, they couldn’t handle their feelings in any other way except to deny the tragedy ever took place. And then they found out their public denials could make them rich, and there you go. That was the end of America. It’s been downhill ever since.
But I’m over it. I can’t dredge up the righteous anger I had last week. It fizzled among the detritus of my humdrum quest for existence. It seemed like a solid idea. I had some words and phrases. Something to do with gerbils. But I didn’t write them down, and you know what happens when you don’t write things down. Banana, sunrise, chair, that’s what. Yep. Dementia.
Lucky for me, I’m not totally demented yet. But I’m also no longer angry. I think I’ve hit the resignation wall. I’ve gone past anger, past despair, and now I’m in the empty boat. I threw my metaphorical paddle overboard. Sort of along the lines of . . . Calgon, take me away. If I had a tub, I’d be in it right now.
So what do I write about if I don’t have anything to set my ire on fire?
If I cared about getting viewers to find my blog, I need to use certain keywords. I know this because I have a Phd in marketing. And what do viewers want? Anger, hatred, resentment, ridicule (toward the “other side,” of course). Not only am I not skilled enough to write that kind of content, I can’t pretend I have anger, hatred, resentment, or a desire to ridicule others. I can’t match the energy. I have no desire to try. I wish everyone would just shut up and go outside.
I get cranky sometimes. Like, right now I’m cranky that this toy tablet I’m working on is balking at uploading artwork to the media library. That’s why there’s no image for today’s blog post. I think that might be the first time EVER that I have omitted the drawing. This situation upsets me. I’m a creature of habit. I rely on my routine. To soothe my irritation, I want to get a brand new computer and give this tablet to Barbie, because she’s the only person who could find it useful. If Barbie were a person.
I don’t think I’m depressed, but I feel like I’m acting the way a depressed person would act, if they spent too much time watching the news. Did someone else get shot today? Do we care? Clearly not or we would do something about it.