No, I don’t live in Seattle, but it sure feels like it sometimes. I didn’t even coin that phrase, “Sheepless in Seattle,” but I’m snagging it just the same.
Recently I got to wait in a parking lot at 7 AM staring at people lined up around the block out here in the middle of nowhere. It took me a couple of minutes to realize why they were there, all masked up and serpentined down the road.
They were there at the break of dawn to make sure they got to get their fifth covid booster. Yes, the fifth shot! The very same shot that does all sorts of things to the human body, but preventing covid is not one of them.
It was so surreal to me I kind of doubted my own eyes so I got out and went to look at the sign on the door. Yep, covid boosters.
Call me crazy, but if I’d already injected myself with an experimental substance twice, and still caught covid, I sure as heck wouldn’t be back for 3 more boosters without first asking some strongly worded questions.
Just to make it extra painful, the only 3 vaxx people I knew who were even willing to discuss potential drawbacks with me, are all now dead. How is that for a painful dose of reality. Disclaimer, correlation is not causation, or some such nonsense. Regardless, I’ll never know the truth, because we aren’t even willing to ask the darn questions.
Sigh. Let me just mention how tired I suddenly felt, how completely powerless. How alone. That’s a lie, the alone part, it is just what I felt like as I looked down that long line of glassy eyed stares and realized there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do about it, because they can’t even hear me. It’s kind of like being in a foreign country where you don’t even speak the language. Or perhaps it’s more like being stuck in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
You know, I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of my life pleading with people not to put needles in their bodies….
Fortunately I was able to come home without making a scene, only to be greeted by a bunch of screaming from the druggies across the road. As usual somebody was threatening to kill somebody and somebody was overdosing. As usual there was a lot of noise like fireworks or gunshots or perhaps just someone dismantling the hood of a car with a sledgehammer. I don’t know all the details.
It’s kind of hard to relax or concentrate in the midst of all that noise so I sat down on the porch to observe and wait for the cops to arrive. A bit funny how I didn’t even think to call them myself, I just knew that eventually someone else would. Except…totally insane drug use is no longer really a crime in Wa, so a couple of ambulances came instead, and proceeded to just kind of hang out in the road, because they sure as heck weren’t walking into that mess without any law enforcement.
I guess nobody in charge of this state really thought that part through properly.
Also, I’m not even supposed to say “druggies.” I mean, “mentally ill people experiencing a routine health incident.” It’s just a RAD, meaning “rage, aggression, delusion.” The charging bull in a meth induced rage really just needs some compassion and a social worker. Check your privilege lady, and try to show some empathy. Maybe offer to make him a sammich. He’s probably just hangry.
I take note of the fact that for some reason, my own mental health is never even a consideration. Like, I’m the one walking about in the middle of a zombie apocalypse muttering to myself, grieving 3 untimely deaths from global warming, all while being subjected to sudden and repeated random loud noises. Is it possible I might need some compassion, a social worker, and a sammich?
Of course not! Allegedly it is people like me who are the root of the problem with all our potentially threatening doubt and lack of confidence in socially approved narratives.
It’s the gas lighting that is just gets so crazy making, the endless stream of bovine poo. I write because much like a millennial, some days I just can’t even.