Hear Me Out

Today, something truly horrific happened in Connecticut. So much pain and sadness has been sown, and so much fear and hate has surfaced and bubbled over. Hearts have been moved, and voices are shouting.

Mostly, I have been inundated with social media messages about gun control. Don’t get me wrong; I am 110% behind that; gun control will vastly decrease the ease with which such atrocities can be committed, but that is only half the story.

Everyone’s hearts are breaking for the innocent victims, the children in particular, but they are not the only ones to be mourned. People need someone or something to blame when tragedy strikes, a vessel for the negative emotions. Sometimes, we forget that the man who committed this crime was that: a man. 

We’re always told to hate the sin, not the sinner, in the Christian faith. That is what it means to walk in the image of God. Yes, this man did something unspeakably evil. Yes, it is perfectly valid to react to that with fear and anger and hate for the action. But the man himself, we ought to love.

So what is the other half of the story, if gun control is only a part? How can we love someone so broken that he would massacre children? We can start by examining something else that is broken in our world: the way we treat those who are mentally ill. Obviously this man was sick. Mentally healthy individuals do not commit mass murder. I don’t pretend to know what precisely in this man’s brain chemistry didn’t add up, but I would be willing to bet he was not receiving adequate treatment for it. So, yes, we do need better gun control, but on the other side, we also need better mental health care. Prevention is not just making it harder for sick people to obtain weapons. Prevention is trying to heal the sick, make it so that they do not feel compelled to use weapons. We’re not all doctors and we’re not all politicians. We don’t all have the power to pass laws and give therapy, but we all have one thing we can use to make this world a better, safer place: Love.

Let’s start loving one another, through and through. Let’s remember that we’re all imperfect people, no matter how hard it is to do so. 

Dealing With Horrific Things

Sometimes life is hard. Things go wrong — in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do: Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Someone on the Internet thinks what you’re doing is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, eventually time will take the sting away, and that doesn’t even matter. Do what only you can do best: Make good art. Make it on the bad days, make it on the good days, too.”

--Neil Gaiman

Coyote

“Please, someone, say something. Anything.”

Silence lingers because

all I can think is

“Keep the jelly donut down”

and the coyote is off-limits.

So Abbie lists the coloring books

she bought for Josh, again,

but I don’t stop her;

I’m too busy thinking about the dead coyote.

It doesn’t matter how loud I yelled

MOM, LOOK, MOM, NO

or how fast she screamed

I’M SORRY SO SORRY SO SORRY

because the oil tanker wasn’t slowing down

so neither could we.

I will not be comfortable in my seat.

In my head I’ve run the physics

over and over in every direction but

the convergence was entirely inevitable.

It happened just how you would expect it to.

On the other side of the median

bronze and sweaty, shining with fear,

the coyote’s heart is pounding and

his legs are pumping through grass

towards an accident I dread for

longer than the impact and

shorter than the aftermath.

Our bumper hits his shoulder

and the whiplash snaps his neck

cutting short the defeated yelp

which morphs into our three frightened cries

when the wheels roll over his body.

They keep talking, too quickly.

I lift my feet off of the car;

wish we could stop and take a walk.

I don’t want the weight of anything

but dirt to push on my soles.

I don’t think it matters what he was running from;

or if he was heading into something

with so much blind determination

it was worth the risk of dying.

Either way I cannot change it,

could not save him.

So we change the light bulb

on the broken left hand turn signal

and pop in a Fred & Ginger flick

to forget about him,

but I will see him again, tonight,

in his best tails and taps,

reminding me that he was important.

Pardon My Fangirl

For those of you who watch Doctor Who (hehehehe whoooo whooo), this post will make perfect sense. I don't think any of you do, however. Sorry. Now go watch it. (Sister, prepare yourself for summer. I'm sure our father will be on board with my evil plans to watch ALL OF IT. The way we watched Gilmore Girls and Remmington Steele. Only with less me going to ballet and missing chunks.)

So here's the story. I had this boyfriend, and he started me watching Doctor Who. I was game, he was nervous I would hate it. He was quite wrong, because I instantly fell in love. This is New Who, mind you, not Classic. Classic is on the to-watch list. Anyway. It got to the point where watching Doctor Who was the best part of our relationship, which along with a lot of other things, was a sign that it needed to end. It was a minor detail, really. Why am I even mentioning the ex? Because watching this show was something we did together, so it felt weird to do it on my own once we split, like it would remind me of him or be awkward in some way. Also, I was really close to Doomsday, and that's a hugely emotional episode which I was avoiding. For a while, I just tried not to think about Doctor Who. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE. I gave in, and picked up where the ex and I left off.

It turns out that Doctor Who is better than a lot of things, like, beyond rationally good. For me, anyway. (And all of tumblr. No big deal.) I have gotten really emotionally and intellectually invested in books, and movies. I have sat in the theater and bawled my little eyes out over fictional characters, and shut myself in my room to re-read novels like I was visiting old friends. TV, however, was always just kind of...there. I've loved shows and characters and writers before, don't get me wrong. I've certainly had obsessions. Occasionally a tear has escaped me because of them. Doctor Who is different. I'm sure you have all seen Hunger Games. Remember when Rue died? (Erm. Spoiler alert.) I know I wept like a baby/someone had just removed one of my limbs, and I imagine at least one of you did as well, little followers. Doctor Who made me cry like that last night. I am that deeply connected to these characters. They're as real to me as the flesh and blood people I interact with every day. I have not felt these feels since Hunger Games, which are feels I hadn't felt since Harry Potter! These are big, huge, Fangirl Feels. And I cannot contain them. So here you go, internet. Have some of my feels.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

Remember that time I moved? Yeah, me too. Well guess what? I moved again. Today. Yup. Twice in 10 days. Bringin' back the Nomad Life. I'm here for a good long while, though.

Today's issue? Hurricanes. This one, named Irene, is supposed to be ravaging the city I'm in (Manhattan) as of 40 minutes ago. It has yet to even rain. This is silly. If you're going to be a natural disaster, you ought to at least be on time...Ah well.

There's a hurricane watching party on the 24th floor in a bit. We're going to hope nothing smashes through the windows.

Prepare For the Uprising

My friends, it is upon us.

Deer are chasing children. Through churches. In the city where I will be in approximately one month.

They know I'm approaching. Get your shelters ready. It's time.