About Writing

Zombies

I don’t lurk around the internet as much as I used to.

Truth is, I don’t think that the internet inherently brings out the worst in people. I think that it’s being used to manipulate people into awful behavior.

But anyway, I used to really love blogs and read a fair number of them. As a writer, I’m a bit of a voyeur when it comes to other people’s minds, and blogs were the perfect way to peer into a wide range of thoughts and lifestyles. My reading list ranged from the-Mormon-next-door to BDSM sex blogs … Maybe I shouldn’t admit to that, lol.

Several years ago, a woman I followed had a miscarriage. In the ensuing emotional fallout, she broke up with her boyfriend because he reminded her of their lost baby, wrote about how she was drifting aimlessly, and frequently referenced how unexpected and painful it had been.

Last year, someone else I followed also had a miscarriage. However, this time it was referenced as a short note explaining why they were taking time off, and they were back to their usual posts literally three days later. The miscarriage was never mentioned again.

Philosophically, I’m a vitalist. Our existence as living beings matters.

The woman, who’s entire world was shattered over the loss of her baby, was fundamentally alive. She experienced and expressed her pain in a way that made sense and was relatable as a human being. While I didn’t agree with all of her choices (her boyfriend sounded like one of those wonderful supportive sorts, and breaking up with him when he was similarly hurting seemed pointlessly destructive), I could at least understand why she made those choices.

But, the person last year who had a miscarriage came across more like a bot. Okay, so they didn’t want to air their private life on the internet, but … only three days offline? Since when is that an appropriate mourning period for a tragic loss?

Heck, when I had my own miscarriage, I dedicated an entire month to mourning, wallowing, and tantruming, and even that felt like I was putting my emotional recovery on the fast track. Heaven knows how long it would have taken if I hadn’t so singularly focused on it.

Three days is just sociopathic.

I don’t like the comparisons between then and now. I don’t like knowing that the virus for zombification is electronically transmitted through the internet.

I don’t like peeking into other people’s minds anymore.

About Me

Easy

I’m getting really sick of the word, “Easy.”

It dawned on me shortly after New Years, when I was snacking on some left over cheese ball while reading the cracker box, and I realized that the “easy” recipe on the back began and ended with slicing some cheddar cheese.

Oh gosh, I don’t know if I could do that. I might accidentally cut the pieces crooked or something. Maybe I’ll just get some canned EZ cheeze instead.

The world has developed an obsession with “Easy this,” and “Easy that.” We’re constantly inundated with tips, tricks, and hacks, for instant results. You know that wonderful feeling of accomplishment that you get when you succeed at doing something difficult or complicated?

Probably not.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the whole world who doesn’t want to take the easy way out. Popping a food tray into the microwave might be easier, but it doesn’t taste anywhere near as good as cooking from scratch.

I’ve even been criticized for not doing the easy thing with my own personal life. No, giving birth naturally at home isn’t as “easy” as getting an epidural in the hospital, but at the end I get an intense rush of love and euphoria that those hospital moms miss out on entirely — they don’t even know it exists. Not to mention, I can live my life with the confidence of knowing that I ain’t no weakling. I am up to the challenge, my will is strong and unbreakable, and I know how to endure until the end.

I don’t really care about ‘easy’. I have no interest in it.

After all, death is easier than life, but that doesn’t justify nihilism.

The best rewards are found in the tasks that are hard.