You, being a discerning connoisseur of high culture, won’t find this surprising, but it came as news to me: the whirly girl mysteriously slipped into autopilot somewhere along the way. It became the Tesla of the Internet, home of a self-driving, unsupervised disaster.
The question is, when? Well, I don’t know; I wasn’t paying attention.
Could’ve been 2021. Maybe 2018. Or possibly 2020. Those were all, for different reasons, pretty crappy years. I broke my leg in 2021. Trump was installed in 2018. The pandemic debuted in 2020. Any one event was enough to send me veering off-course, but three in such short order depleted my coping reserves and sent me scurrying into rabbit holes. Rabbit holes, in case you’re wondering, are my port in a storm, my happy places.
I dive into them when the going gets tough. It’s a survival tactic for the chronically anxious. Avoidance isn’t recommended by psychologists, of course. Facing your fears is what they recommend. Catching up with your to-do list and spending time in nature are also recommended. Uh-huh, whatever. I like rabbit holes. They’re relaxing.
But, now, it’s time to crawl out and rejoin the world. Spring is on final approach. Trump is rocketing toward his Waterloo. My leg is all healed and remains attached. There’s a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, by gum, and I’m stoopidly assuming it isn’t a locomotive. Or a stroke. Either way, I’m ready.
I’ll take it from here, except for one small problem: I’ve forgotten the basics of navigation and have no idea where I am. Or how to find my way back. So I’m going to strap on the old thinking cap, buckle the chin strap, and seize the day. I’ll roam freely and see the sights, — intentionally, this time — open-eyed and fully aware. I’ll take notes and report back.
Whatever happens, happens. I’ll to go down with my little ship here, if necessary, but not without a good fight first. The site’s been redesigned, I’ve pinpointed the weak spots and shortcomings, and now comes the hard part: avoiding the lure of the rabbit holes. One day at a time, right? Sheesh, I feel like a recovering alcoholic. I expect to make mistakes, backslide now and again, but the promise of crashing into something really great looms dead ahead.
Miracles can happen. Wait and see.
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