The post I had originally planned to publish today had to do with examples of situations that were so annoying it left me with no other choice and no more fitting a response than to say, “FUCK THAT SHIT!” However, given the recent headlines in the news over the past two days, I feel it would be grossly insensitive (not to mention I’d seem like a total douchebag) if I blogged about nonsense as trivial as waiting around all day for the cable guy to come and fix my service. I’ll have to table that post for another time when sarcasm and a little humor are more appropriate. Today though, I find nothing humorous about the cruel world we live in.
Ironically, when I heard about the bombings in Boston, the FTS response was actually one of my first reactions. This time however, it wasn’t because I was annoyed that my day got screwed up. It was so much more than that. I blurted out, “fuck that shit” because I was so angry. And sad. And confused. And fearful. I’m hardly one to preach, nor do I claim to be an authority on much of anything, but I just can’t understand why these violent acts keep happening over and over and over.
Our children are growing up in a completely different world than the one I remember at their age. When we were kids, equating fear with ‘regular stuff’ didn’t happen. Traveling on an airplane… Going to a movie theatre… Spending the day shopping at the mall. Today we have to look over our shoulders as we’ve become conditioned to assess the surroundings in order to ensure that our safety isn’t being compromised. Nowadays, our brains are programmed to never let our guard down. We’ve been rewired to be mindful of the potential risks we take in doing even the simplest of our daily tasks; like when we walk through a parking lot or fuel up at a gas station in broad daylight. When I kiss my children goodbye each morning, I inhale deeply; practically forgetting to breath out afterwards. I don’t want them to see the fear in my eyes as I silently panic over all the what if scenarios that race through my brain. A few years ago I recall saying that the place I felt the safest in all of town was in the parking lot at my son’s school. Surely, I don’t feel the same any longer. It really sucks to carry around a perpetual pit in the bottom of your stomach.
Coincidentally, Saturday morning I am scheduled to run a half marathon to benefit the Diabetes Research Institute. I will still wake up at the crack of dawn and go about my normal routine as I always do on race days. Only this time, in addition to worrying about the wellbeing of my knees as I get close to that thirteenth mile marker, I will have to add worrying about the wellbeing of my life as well as the lives of my fellow participants and spectators to the list. The thought of an innocent 8 year old boy cheerfully awaiting his loved one’s approach across the finish line and then dying because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time is unfathomable to me. What if that 8 year old was my little boy? The mere thought is so far beyond the scope of anything that I could possibly comprehend. It’s just too much to handle.
As the powers that be continue to work tirelessly to hunt for the despicable and clearly unconscionable culprit(s) who are responsible for these crimes of terror, my heart aches for the victims of this tragedy. I am sending my thoughts and prayers and love wherever it is needed.
BUT JUST TO LET YOU KNOW… when I try to figure out what kind of psychotic lunatic would intentionally plot to harm others in such a heinous way, I can’t help but want to scream, “FUCK THAT [piece of] SHIT.” Anyone who has that much malice flowing through their veins deserves to burn and rot in hell. Just saying.