There is a time. There is a season, for everything. Trying to make sense of the mess we’re in is challenging. It’s much easier to say fuck it and retreat from life, from the pain of the world’s inhumanity. Life sucks, and then you die. End of story.
Okay, so I don’t know who the heck opened Pandora’s box, but here we are facing all the evils in the world unleashed by COVID-19. There are no guarantees we’ll survive this virus or the economic disaster thrust upon us.
Living on the edge of chaos. The death toll is rising. The economy’s in cardiac arrest. The world is melting down, and we are powerless to stop the burning.
Toilet paper. ✔ Paper towels. ✔ Hand-sanitizer. ✔ Cat Food. ✔ Pasta, beans. ✔ All good. I’m ready. We’re in this together, right? Let’s all hold hands and sing “Kumbaya.” Okay, we have to skip the hand-holding, but we can wave at each other from a safe six-foot distance. We’ve got this.
I lamented that baby boomers had become irrelevant in my “When I’m 64” blog. Now Grandma is expendable. Cue the firing squad.