Who Doesn’t Want to Escape the Doom-Scrolling That is Our Waking Hours?
I sure do.
Am I the only one who wants to run away from the world? Anyone tired of waking every day to a new horror, fight, plague, or an agent orange of a former president stomping his petulant little feet because he wants to play? Will someone come out and play with me? More like: will someone come out and hate with me? Daily, I balance wanting to be an informed human while not succumbing to the void that threatens to swallow us whole. Notice how we cleave to kittens on Instagram getting a new lease on life or clips of a toddler waddling with their pittie pup because we want to imagine a world where everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.
Even when we know these images are a reprieve, a band-aid over a breaking dam.
Years ago, when my former agent was pitching my second book to editors, many of them commented on the subject matter, the “relentless dark” of the material, and now I laugh (translation: scream-cry into pillows) because a book about a serial killer is quaint compared to our everyday.
Perhaps if I had children, I’d be stronger. I’d be invested in a future that wasn’t burning. I’d pick up my armaments to battle the impending doom. But I don’t have children, never wanted them, never considered them, and most days I weigh war…
