Clinton, South Carolina, Tuesday, July 10, 2018, 10:27 a.m.
The world is in a haze, and it has nothing to do with the West being in flames.
The West is always in flames. It’s the figurative and literal reason for the haze. I have become inured to wildfires.
I’m inured to Russian interference, cops shooting the wrong guy, powerful men trading assistance for sexual favors, mass shootings, around-the-clock news and sports, and The Simpsons on TV somewhere.
Nothing surprises me except the strangeness of Hallmark Movies & Mysteries showing one Christmas movie after another in the middle of July. Hallmark must have gotten inured to replays of Columbo, Diagnosis: Murder and Monk.
Our current president has become so unpredictable, it’s predictable.
The summer haze is a short social-media video that keeps running over and over. Soccer players grimacing. Politicians screaming. Farmers Insurance knowing a thing or two because it’s seen a thing or two.
That’s my me, too movement. So many things matter that nothing matters.
Madness has become normal. If you don’t believe me, read your Facebook feed.
It’s hard to maintain passion because passion has become normal.
All of a sudden, little things mean a lot. Last night I was editing an obituary that had a small typo. The deceased reportedly once enjoyed riding around the county with her husband in their motorhome. Apparently they were as close to homebodies as travelers can be. I changed “county” to “country” and laughed for thirty seconds.
If the government put puppies and kitten in cages, no one would stand for it.
Another way I cobble out a living is with my books, a wide variety of which are available for sale here.
The new novel, my eighth, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.
Lightning in a Bottle is now available in an audio version, narrated by Jay Harper.