Dear Diary,
I’ve been online a lot, mostly Facebook. It’s my go-to source for the daily dose of news and Internet drama so this is totally my fault and I recognize that. The problem is, I just don’t know what to think anymore. Suddenly, I have to watch all my p’s and q’s and then use a thesaurus, a dictionary and Google to make sure no feelings will be hurt and no toes will be stepped on. I mean, I always thought the word ‘Thug” meant hoodlum and I’ve used that word so loosely throughout my life. Apparently, I should be ashamed. But I swear, I didn’t know. Just like I didn’t know I should feel some sort of privilege for being born who I am, Dear Diary. Because mostly, I walk around feeling ashamed that I didn’t finish college and I have no true marketable skills. You see, Diary..I don’t look at people the way other people do, I guess. It only matters to me if someone is an asshole, otherwise I just consider everyone to be equal and my potential friend. Is that wrong?
Another thing I’ve been thinking about in the drama department. Oh, the drama. Diary, why does everything have to be made into one? I mean, it’s so unnecessary, isn’t it? And the slamming people for inserting their voice or opinion because it varies from their own? That’s not a discussion or debate, that’s a sort of shaming from a place where shaming is condemned. Right, Diary? The judgement, it’s so bad. It’s so so bad. I always thought we were entitled to express our views and opinions because there’s this whole Freedom thing. But, now we have to walk on eggshells and be guarded with our opinions and views. Because View and Opinion Shaming is rampant. Like ISIL. Only, without the beheadings.
We can’t say words like slut because we’re slut-shaming. We can’t breastfeed in public because we are offending. We can’t say bossy because we are offending feminists..which, I consider myself to kind of be. We can’t be pro-choice and anti-abortion because then God (even a god you weren’t raised to believe in) gets shoved down your throat…oh, and the word ‘murderer’ is thrown around…and that you’re not really a true pro-choicer if you don’t completely agree with abortion. We can’t talk about racism if we aren’t aware of our white privilege. Diary, do you understand that it is so difficult to be able to talk about ANYTHING these days because a question posted can turn into a political debate that ends up questioning your beliefs and integrity and all you wanted to know was something innocuous like…for example…what the weather is like in West Africa.
Oh Diary, the backspace and delete buttons are starting to rule my world and I hate feeling like I have to remain quiet, like I can’t ask a question or make a statement because I may word it wrong, (I’m not all that eloquent).. and suddenly I’d have a mob attacking me. I love all my online friends. But, they are starting to worry me, Diary.
Diary, I’d really like to live in a country..no..a world…where there was true respect. Because, there isn’t. There is this whole sanctimonious attitude. This whole..if you don’t ‘see things my way then you don’t understand me and you’re no friend of mine’. I don’t understand that yet I see it happening. I don’t care if someone doesn’t understand what I’m saying or understand my opinion or understand my views as long as they respect the fact that I have them, even if they are different from theirs. Oh Diary, why can’t people just agree to disagree and get along as a human race? I’m just not feelin’ the love. C’mon people now, smile on your brothers. Everybody get together try to love one another…RIGHT NOW. Oh, to be a hippy.
There are so many things going on, I don’t even know where to start.
But, OMG…here’s the icing on the cake. The big and grande finale. It’s even worse than the Internet going-ons because this is physical. It’s right here, happening now, in my home. I can shut off the Internet but this…this is something I’m faced with the moment I walk into the kitchen.
Diary dear, we are going on day 5 without a kitchen sink. The plumbing broke and the plumber hasn’t come round to fix it. There is no source of running water in our kitchen, aside from the trickle that comes out of that water spout on the fridge. And that..is no good for anyone on any sort of time restraint. I’ve resorted to washing dishes BY HAND (well, using yellow rubber gloves BUT the right thumb has a hole). Do you understand that I haven’t done that since college and then..I still avoided it like the plague? And the plague has now reached my home…it’s in my kitchen in the form of crusted, caked on dishes and bowls. Will it cause Ebola? Will it cause an outbreak of the Enterovirus, right here in the very house I live in?
Our plastic and paper good supply has diminished down to nothing. We have napkins, though. So, that’s good. At least we can have some semblance of civility. Oh Diary, do you think the plumber will ever show up? Because I can’t take much more of this.
Oh Diary, my struggles.
My struggles.
They are so very, very real.
Love,
Melissa XOXO