Observations from the Invisibility Cloak

When I was 28 and writing poetry, I wrote a poem lamenting the feeling that I was invisible because I was no longer the youngest, cutest thing on the block --- and I had become a mother. Now I'm in my sixties and really invisible. And I like it!

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Hit the Mute Button

It is all just too noisy out there. Sure, I know I can turn the sound down -- and I do. But sometimes I simply want to cover my ears and close my eyes and make it all go away.

What's that? Why, the world of course. The world on my screen.

See, now that I have so few concrete responsibilities, I can spend entirely too much time flitting around the internet or listening to NPR --- or both at the same time. I get bombarded with videos and outrage and injustice and conspiracies and every single day, THE SKY IS FALLING!

Tonight, once again, I want to run away. We can sell the house and move someplace out of the US where people aren't armed to the teeth, trying to turn the country into a theocracy, letting children fall through the wide cracks in the educational and social foundations. You know, someplace serene and beautiful, like Camelot or Shangri-La or . . .  now where would that be again?

I know that "news" is really theater. That "current events" are SSDD. That human dramas have played out along similar lines throughout history. I know that. But sometimes I let it get to me.

So I believe I need a break. If I turn my attention to what is right in front of me, things are pretty good. Very good, in fact. If I saw roaming hordes of demons outside and flung the door open and invited them in for tea, it would be no different than what I've been doing online. So STOP already!

Curiosity, some sage once said, killed the cat. It's time to divert my curiosity into more productive channels and get back down to writing. New research materials are on the way in the form of actual, hold them in your hand books. I can read. I can hang out with Jill and the dogs and friends. I can soak up the sun on the back deck. And I can use my computer to do what I love, create stories, instead of scaring myself to death every day. It's all a matter of choice.