Something Old, Something Covid-19

I’d had it.

Until yesterday, I was doing my social distancing as we all should be doing at this time (bear with me, this post won’t be preachy about the pandemic; this post, anyway…) and doing the exact opposite with social networking and getting a little too wrapped up in over- and shit-posting and would you please take a few steps back, Michael, ‘cos I’m a-feeling a little claustrophobic…

Yeah. That thing.

And the problem with social networking when you have some long-form ways of thinking is that long-form writing is actually actively discouraged. Anything that has any depth of thought is relegated to threads of TLDR; and posts are expected to be shares of the news with maybe a blurb and, if not, a picture of someone’s cat saying something snarky in a fourth-wall breaking manner that we all laugh ourselves to death at, which is promptly copied elsewhere until it becomes a dog or the president or people putting sanitary napkins on their upper lip in some mad Charlie Chaplin caricature saying something more sane that the president. I dunno — life is all pretty absurd to me right now. At least I have toilet paper in my underground bunker.

Anyway, I was doing all kinds of anti-social distancing (see what I did there?), which is much closer than the 6′ recommendations given out by our fearless CDC as long as they don’t upset the Head Cheddar, even though it is a vast distance physically.

And I was reading stuff people were saying in these madcap, not-very-funny-but-laugh-or-cry times and I realized I couldn’t laugh anymore. I wanted to cry.

[I just got an email reminding me it was Census Day, and if that doesn’t make you laugh, I don’t know what will. Shouldn’t we wait until, I dunno, this all blows over? Wait, it’s mostly Blue States that are impacted: SEND THAT CENSUS IN BEFORE AUNT JANE KICKS IT!]

Yes. I’m a horrible person who will come to a horrible end. Take comfort in that.

One person suggested this Covid-thing was solvable with vitamins found in fresh vegetables. Another suggested there was an “acceptable casualty” volume if we just all had a good-old-fashioned chickenpox party for the Corona-age. Yet another talked of crystals. Someone got upset with me because I didn’t want to become part of the newest viral (not biological viral) meme and graced me with a frowny face. People in a suburb near me were removing barriers from playground equipment and telling their kids to have fun on high-touch areas while in Texas, good old boys were yucking it up and shaking hands and riding golf carts, drinking from the same water bottles while vilifying queer, whiny-assed pansy liberals scared of a “little cold”. There were intellectuals being incredibly self-important in their talks of revolution without bloodshed, but lots of expensive multi-syllabic words on the order of 75 centavos a piece cutting into their intellectual inferiors like a chainsaw through lambs being led to the slaughter.

I couldn’t do laugh about it anymore. I was suffocating and needed out. Or I needed to kill myself.

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

Albert Camus

By the time I woke up this morning, I decided life was still worth living, so I elected to not kill myself. But I thought it might be time to cull that little bastard in social media — if not completely, at least until he was no longer a little monster he was becoming due to a lack of air.

See — I could pretend that all these people driving me bonkers last night were the whole of the problem. But it wasn’t just the insanity I was witnessing; it was also the insanity I was creating. I was starting to seriously hate on people who were “fiends of friends” [sic], public people, private people, people I liked and people I disliked. Of all of them, I disliked myself the most. Or the person I was becoming. Being on display seems to force one to wear masks and I was beginning to wear the biggest, ugliest mask that ever was made by the maker of masks.

Cry, die, continue to lie?

Death it is, cos boys don’t cry and I’ve always hated liars.

So, I came here after killing that little shit I’d become in social media.

I can’t believe you’ve read all that, maybe, just to find out that the “Old” reference in the title is this little blog. I erased a few posts I’d put up before letting this thing go dormant. I may resurrect one, but of the three, only one was worth keeping.

I’m tired, boss, tired of being someone to please other people and not someone to please myself. I should never have gotten back into social media. I should have left it to people who need that kind of stuff.

I hate masks.

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