Aftermath

Things just got real...unfocused.

I meant to call you Wednesday, my friend said yesterday, but then the world blew up, and I forgot.

I felt the same way. The world had blown up, and while I was incredulous, I was not surprised. How many times can people who clutch their guns and conspiracy theories hear “the left wing nut jobs and BLM and Antifa are taking over the America we love! They’re coming for your freedom, your guns, and unborn children! We cannot stand by and let that happen!” before shit turns violent?

Anyway, on Wednesday, the world blew up. It also seems that my head, and any resident coherent creative thoughts, is collateral damage. I try to write and all I get is static. The small observations I am wont to expound upon feel petty, self-indulgent. Why should you care that the second elliptical machine I ordered never arrived, or that I saw a fox in the backyard the other day, eating leftover pizza? I found them interesting, in the moment, but I couldn’t attach them to a bigger theme or even retain them for more than thirty seconds. What I came away with was so what?

I imagine all of us will survive this mind-blowing time in our existence, anarchy set against the backdrop of a raging pandemic. People of faith will pray, optimists will look for a silver lining, and I will get up in the morning to walk my dog, keeping an eye out for the missing elliptical and the fat fox.