In an effort to escape the little train wreck that could, I haven't watched the news much. The North Koreans have agreed to ratcheting down their nuclear weapons project and by golly, the rumor is there is a war still going on, but I can't bear the thought of listening to pundits blather on about paternity tests and dead bodies. (Um, ew.) I thought that was what Maury was for. There just isn't anything to be gained by rehashing her life again and again. In her death, all I come away with is the impression that there isn't much that can save you from yourself if you are bent on ruining your short life.
I tuned in for the weather report the next day and hoped for an endearing local human interest piece, something to warm my heart. Instead I was rewarded with a local story about an 84 year-old foster mother who has been sentenced 3 years for sexually abusing her 11 year-old charge some years ago. I so wish I was making this up. Even the local newscasters were faintly shaking their heads, puzzled. As her pastor relayed her involvement in the prison ministry, the irony was too much for me and I had to turn it off. And fast.
Later I decided to watch a movie with the kids. They were coughing in turn, and sharing bad taste in movies as they picked out the Parent Trap, a movie that begs the question: who, praytell, divides their twin girls up like property. (It's a burning question from the 1961 version that has stayed with me all these years.) Are we to believe that because dealing with an ex, especially the exes in this script, is so difficult, so inconvenient, that the only option available would be to live on separate continents and to never speak of the other child again. I've seen more passion about visiting rights to the family dog, but what do I know? Maybe in another 20 years or so, when Disney produces it again, I will finally get it.
And throughout it all, the flying nun keeps interrupting me to tell me about a friend that has to take 'time out every week' to take her medication. That staves off a terrible condition. So we are clear, once a week her hapless friend pours herself some water and swallows a pill. How ever does she cope and get anything done? What with all this pouring of water and taking one pill a week. Hey Sally, I am trying to really, really like you, but I just can't muster it today.
There are days when it is perfectly clear why I prefer the written word.