Wasting Time

I had one of those moments last night as I was responding to a long commentary on a journalist who resigned was fired after writing a column on public sector workers being paid full salaries during the pandemic and many private sector workers facing financial hardship. The views on this article were more than 10 times the views on a previous column in which he wrote about lifting all to a guaranteed income, even if it was just to the poverty line (my pet soap box advocacy as you all know).

The pitchforks came out for him and I defended him and his right to his opinion. Suffice to say, as I engaged once more with Facecloth and Twister and the privileged defending their rights to substantial pay-cheques, pensions and benefits while the peasants pay them through their income taxes, I thought: what the almighty hell are you doing wasting time on all of this?

Ever have one of those moments? It was around 10.00 pm as I read the latest attack on my miscomprehension of their rights. Did I not know that these same public sector workers did not complain when the oil sector workers were making more than they were? cos, you know, we are all in this together! This from a dude making both public sector and private sector income in his spare time from his public sector job. His income? Pushing close to $200,000. Nearly 10 times the poverty level. The air is thin up there when you can only count your own privileges against those making even more and think "bootstraps" for the rest of us if you have time to throw a thought our way at all.

So my moment came and I thought: stop it now. Make your life count for more than these ridiculous meaningless verbal sword-fights and just do exactly what you want to do. Stop the fighting. Remove yourself from social media. Cancel the subscription to the paper in protest of their pandering to the elite.

I had a dream last night of being swept away in this kind of tidal wave. I wasn't frightened. I landed on a huge rock and just calmly trudged on. I had a purpose and I was committed to it. The rock was washed clean by the wave every minute. It held a lot of meaning for me.

Write. Read. Knit. Disengage from politics and social media and meaningless debates. Make every day of what's left count. Read my blog buds for sustenance.

So here I am.

Unplugging.

I'm 25 years off television. I wrote about this on and off over the years. I haven't missed it once. I was pleased today to see a friend announcing on FB that he's unplugged himself from the news. Like New Rule. Not off sports though, he's one of those avid sports fans. I don't see the point of it unless it's to temper male aggression. My father was an angry man but when he'd return from his beloved hurling matches it was like all the starch was kicked out of him for the rest of the evening. I think sports watching serves a purpose for former hunters and gatherers. It cools the heat, flattens the fists, redirects complaints to the hulking teamsters on the flat screen plus, bonus, it gives them something to autopsy afterwards.

I'm thinking of terminating the daily newspaper again. It doesn't start my day well. I enjoy the columnists but the incessant drug/murder/mayhem/abuse stories are taking their toll on me. I prefer my bubble of birds outside, bouncing around the bird feeders (and what an incredible variety this year including the delightful purple finches and northern flickers).

I have choice I remind myself, so I recently unplugged from an End of Days listserv. I mean there's nothing I can do about our planet's tailspin. I'd rather not know if it's going to be today or next year.

Ignorant bliss is a good state for this elder. Pass me my knitting.