Nazi Salutes, DEI Rollbacks, Gleeful Hate & Ignorance

Now I get why we’re all self-medicating with internet drama.

Photo by RDNE Stock project: https://www.pexels.com/photo/bench-nature-love-women-6670159/

Normally, I wouldn’t care about the Justin Baldoni/Blake Lively kerfluffle but lately I feel like a vein-slapping addict. Gimme more, as Britney so sagely crooned. In between work and reading a new novel, I’ve been consumed by tea channels and online commentators, court filings and PR jockeying. And while I have a very strong opinion on the matter, I’m fascinated by how much I care about rich celebrities battling in the court of public opinion.

And then it occurred to me — the drama is my Sancerre, a sweet anesthetic, a lobotomy-lite. It makes the medicine go down. It makes the daily horror that is our reality easier to bear.

I worry about many things — how I’ll pay for my cat’s insulin, rent, the student loan forbearance that expires in March. I wonder how I’ll claw my way back to finishing a third book. How I’ll keep my sanity intact amidst a world that is intent on imploding all around me.

I also worry about fellow Americans who seem to have lost their fucking mind and all of the plot. The contortions they take in defending a Nazi salute while the footage is censored across Europe and Germans warn us how history has a funny way of repeating itself if we’re not diligent enough, strong enough. If we’re too distracted, too tired, hate will worm its way in and consume us whole.

Let’s not forget how Hitler dismantled a democracy in 53 days. Pfft, online commenters say. That horror will never happen again until it does, as it always, invariably, does. And even though hate loses every single time, they’re the pummeled, bloodied guy in a fight who keeps climbing to his feet.

I worry about the slew of DEI rollbacks, which puts me to thinking that while we have move forward as people, those in power have been lying all along. They never wanted progress — they wanted to distract and medicate the masses while they robber baron their way into our threadbare pockets.

I worry that there’s only two white rhinos left in the world. I worry whether these mozzarella sticks slathered in marinara sauce will do me in. As someone on the spectrum, I feel entirely too much. I’m a walking wound in a constant state of re-dress. I want it all not to get to me but I can’t and I sit here and think — there’s so much pain and hate in the world, how are we not bearing the weight of it?

How do we not turn on the television or scroll our phones and feel sick at the state of the world and angry with all the people pretending the ticking isn’t the bomb?

I never understood the mindless scrolling and obsession with The Real Housewives until I did (I actually still don’t under TRH but I get how someone else would). Until I went out in search of distraction because it’s all too much.

Every month for the past few years I have a call with my friend Krista. We video chat and I watch the snow come down in sheets in her home of Canada while I talk about how Los Angeles is still burning. She’s a visual artist and I’m a writer and we talk about how we can create art under capitalism. And how we can do it without losing our minds. Last week, I asked her the question nobody wants to ask or talk about.

Aren’t you afraid of dying? You look at your hands, your feet and one day they won’t be here. You’ll be gone and with the passage of time you’ll be forgotten. And I’m okay with that if the one life we do live wasn’t so fucking hard. Everything is a slog, everything a climb. Nothing every comes easy or unearned and for once, we’d all love a break. And I felt comforted because she had been thinking the same thing too.

And then we asked ourselves what would we do if it were easy for once? What would you do if you had $5000? I asked. And our responses were not adventurous or fanciful — they centered on survival. I’d get my cat’s teeth cleaned, I said wistfully. Pay down debt. And it reminded us that we’re enduring our days rather than living them. And we’re the privileged ones. I imagine people would want to fill their fridges. Or keep the lights on. Or buy the medication insurance won’t cover and they desperately need.

And this breaks my heart in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Because this is our one sweeping, beautiful life and while there’s much to love about it, much to hold on to and celebrate, it is utterly exhausting.

I’m a proud New Yorker, but I’m not a proud American because what’s there to be proud of? Human rights and decency stripped to bend to a singular group of people’s ideology and religion? Crippling debt, medical costs, and bread that costs $8? America is wonderful is you’re straight, rich, white, and Christian. But for me, and many I know, it’s a constant struggle.

So here’s me hitting refresh on all the drama. Here’s me self-medicating on online nonsense and influencer tears because it takes me away, albeit for a little while, from the everyday.

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And for my loyal readers who might be wondering — yes, I will have a new writing tutorial/essay posted soon. I’ve been a bit…distracted. Also, I sell clothes online for a living on ebay, poshmark, and Depop, until, you know, I hit the Lotto, lol.