The world is burning and I don’t want to watch. Stealing this line from some article by some writer in some magazine.
I haven’t read the news in days. Every now and then I skim a headline to make sure I didn’t miss anything important. Maybe they found a vaccine? But it’s just, oh the death toll is that high now. I don’t want to read about Trump. I stopped watching press briefings since he roasted one reporter and used Mike Pompeo as a shield to fend off the lions. But he’s had many more scuffles with reporters so you probably don’t know which one I’m referring to. Our President gives me anxiety. I deleted my Twitter app.
I don’t want to think about him. Or the fact that the Democratic Party will lose the election. Biden is a weak candidate, people “rally around the flag” in times of crisis, and nobody wants a revolution at a time of uncertainty. It will be four more years of this mayhem. With the additional strain of a second Great Depression. But I will not think about that now.
I also don’t want to think about how I dug into my savings to buy this url weeks ago, and one month later I’ve only one blog post to my name. I have stories, but they’re shy birds that like to sing in their cages – I tell myself. Besides, Arianna Huffington says don’t beat yourself up for not being productive.
Well, I’ve painted, learned Procreate, cooked food for friends, donated, I am learning “I wish you love” on the guitar, made like 7 masks, read, watched movies, spent more time on Pitchfork, made videos, learned and abandoned TikTok, gardened, taken graphic design courses, blah blah. I’m boosting my morale because the truth is no, my book will not be ready by fall.
I am grateful. I am lucky. I have a two-story house with rooms I can rotate my time in, a garden, and a fridge stocked for 3 weeks. I even have hummus. On Saturday I was a gluttonous sinner and ordered French toast with fresh raspberries and a baguette with melted brie from Atelier Monnier. Minutes later, I took a nap because it turns out a full belly makes the guilt worse.
The world is burning and I don’t want to watch. Syrian refugees stranded in the desert without running water or soap. People lining up in California at soup kitchens. Women not affording pads. People holed up in efficiencies without windows. Janitors risking their lives for $7.25 an hour. Women suffering domestic abuse. Doctors choosing who to save. Makeshift morgues. Loneliness. Impending poverty. I don’t want to think about it.
My baby sister said her first word today: papa. And she said it twice. Nobody caught it on video. (Maybe it didn’t happen.)
The world is burning and I don’t want to watch so I look in the mirror. My face is aging. 30 is fast approaching. I have no love interests. Nobody calls. But this is immaterial. Nothing matters except surviving another day.
I bought $40 worth of anti-aging serums from The Ordinary just in case. I’ll report back on whether it brought me happiness. For now, I’ll continue my survival routine of avoiding the world’s sufferings and my book.