****Warning: A portion of this post is a bit graphic. You may want to refrain from snacking while reading this one.****
****It’s also a long post. You may want a nap afterwards.****
A long time ago, in a town far away, I sat in a classroom puzzling out algebraic equations. As I sat there wondering why on earth I was using letters in math problems, grumbling how I’d never use these in real life, the two neurons that weren’t addled by raging teenage hormones actually paid attention and filed something away for future use. That something was the transitive axiom, a nifty little theory that states if A equals B and B equals C, then A must also equal C. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to find that little nugget of information quite useful. (Ok, Mr. Snyder, you may now say “I told you so.”)
Here’s an example: If Mumma Boo is a control freak, and control freaks should not watch the news, then Mumma Boo should not watch the news.
See how I justified my ignorance right there? Brilliant, huh?
Here’s another one: If it looks like an asshole, and it acts like an asshole, then it is an asshole.
Ok, so that one doesn’t really fit the mathematical formula, per se, but it’s true, isn’t it?
So what do control freaks and assholes have in common, besides being tightly puckered? The news. Control freaks shouldn’t watch the news because there are far too many assholes on the news.
I simply cannot watch the news anymore. It’s not that I don’t care about what’s happening in our world – I do – that’s the problem. I can’t do a thing about those problems, which frustrates me to no end. Each newscast is one horrible story after another about humankind’s unending penchant for cruelty. Do I feel bad about what’s happened? Hell, yes. Can I help in some way? Maybe, but most likely no. And that’s frustrating. When I get frustrated, I get cranky. Why should I watch something that will only result in me getting upset and taking out my frustrations on things I can control? Sure, my bathtub is a little shinier after I try to clean away my anger about the latest dumbass politician’s solution to the economic downturn, but really, is that helping anyone? I learned a long time ago that politicians suck. All of them. I don’t need to hear about the latest political scandal or how much more money is going to be wasted this year. It’s out of my hands, and pretty much a foregone conclusion. Is this a fatalistic attitude? Probably. Is it a “head-in-the-sand” coping mechanism? Definitely. Does it work for me? For right now, it does. If I got my panties in a bunch about everything I see on the news, my underwear would be so far up my digestive tract that I’d be burping red satin.
I think I’m tired, just so damn tired, of hearing how awful the human race has become. How everyone else is to blame. How no one takes responsibility for themselves and their actions any more. I’m just overwhelmed by the sheer number of assholes out there, and how I can’t do anything about them. So I cope the only way I know how – by turning off the news, affixing blinders to my head, and plowing through my days hoping that no one wants to talk about the Thankgiving quadruple murder or the troop surge in Afghanistan. And yet, despite my best efforts, the assholes, they rip off my blinders, yelling ”look at me!” and wreak havoc with my faith in humanity.
****Warning: The weak-stomached may want to skip ahead to the end.*****
My MIL and her husband live on a farm in the New Hampshire mountains. They’re good, generous people; they grow enough produce and raise enough livestock to sustain themselves and give some to those who aren’t as fortunate. They pay their bills with their day jobs and the farm makes them self-sufficient; they don’t bother anybody. Two weeks ago, a couple of assholes changed all that. After spending a great deal of the day driving back and forth past the farm, they backed into the driveway far enough to see who was in the house and how far the outside lights illuminated the property. Then the assholes drove away and waited for my MIL and her husband to go to bed. Turning their engine off, the assholes let their truck coast down the hill to the barn, where they proceeded to steal Lulu, a lamb that had been born in the spring and one of my children’s favorites at the farm. Only these fuckers didn’t just steal Lulu. They slaughtered her. In the middle of the night, less than a yard away from her mother. They lured her into the garden where she couldn’t escape, slit her throat, cut off her head and ripped out her spine. They took whatever was edible and left the carnage there for my stepFIL to find in the morning. I’m still stunned by the horror of it all - I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
For the first time in the 12 years I’ve known them, my MIL and stepFIL are talking about leaving the farm. They no longer feel safe; what might have happened had my stepFIL heard Lulu’s cries and gone to investigate? I shudder to think about it. I thank God that I’ll only have to explain Lulu’s absence to my children the next time we visit and not their grandfather’s.
It seems I can’t escape the assholes no matter how hard I try. I figure I have two choices at this point – give in and let the assholes win or stand up and prove to myself, and more importantly, to my kids, that there really is good in the world, despite what the news media would have us think. Even though my faith in the goodness of mankind has been shaken yet again, I can’t let my kids see that. I have to seek whatever examples of goodness I can find and expound upon them so loudly that my kids understand that being responsible, respectful, and just plain decent towards one another is how we should all strive to live.
I need to take back a little of the control that I feel I’ve lost, one kind act at a time.
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