Posted in What May Appear to be 'Humorous'

Late to the party? It’s never too late to blog about shootings these days, sadly

I remember driving home December 11, too busy being pissed off to listen to the news carefully. The rage that was simmering at that time was primarily over the fact that we’d ran out of Hot Cheetos the night before.

Do you know what it’s like to have no comfort food at home to indulge in? My day was already off to a bad start. So you can stop making my life suck even more by not making me cry about other things – like other people’s lives sucking more- without those Cheetos, Shooters.

Maybe if you were more considerate villains, like Voldemort to Harry Potter, you’d realize you shouldn’t do bad things while I don’t have Cheetos. I wasn’t ready for the whammy you put on American safety this month… At least each time Voldemort tries to kill Harry, he waits until the school year’s almost over. But you chose to gun down a mall a 30-minute max ride from my house before I was prepared, and twenty-six more from my home state a few days later when I still hadn’t ventured to my grocery store because of Incident #1.

It gets worse, cause you commit suicide instead of turning yourselves in, so the media psycho-analyzes you and dwells on the lack of closure and solutions. So now not only have I not physically gone to the store for my Cheetos, but if you’d stuck around a while longer, we could’ve directly pinpointed whether the problem is actually putting a gun in your hand or taking the time to look after your mental health by asking you. And thus I’d have to feel less crappy about the arguing people clogging up my Facebook newsfeed with their debates. So thanks for that too.

Now there’s also 20 little kids the same age as the children who tug on my shirt at church, whose pictures are on Facebook for all to see, who were also gunned down. You weren’t even considerate in that regard. You shot up my hometown, and then did you have to go pick kids for your next victims, really?

I’m at this impasse where I care but don’t understand anything. So I’m depressed about two problems I can’t solve: the world’s with gun control/mental health/extensive media coverage, and my problem with sustaining my supply of Cheetos. The former could’ve stood to come a bit later so I could have at least had more time to get my own sh*t together before dealing with other kinds.

I heard the stories of my friends fearing for their co-workers’ safety, or those whose mothers hid in the back of stores with the employees listening to the shots. I also stare at the Facebook pictures of the victims in all their baby-faced, toothless glory, and click the x button as I also see those kids who tug on my shirt at church come running towards me and I run the opposite way and they squeal cause they think I’m playing but I’m not because I’m actually trying to stop picturing their little, murdered bodies every time I turn on the news. So thanks Shooter- now if I bump into any pleasant kids or adults in the grocery store, I can’t even be pleasant to them back anymore. Not being able to take it like a woman, I had to pinch the skin between my thumb and index finger to stop, freaking, caring already.

Did I mention it hurts worse without Cheetos?

Two people born from their mothers, who breathed in the stale mall air and hurried along with their daily lives, who maybe smiled at a passerby and apologized if they bumped into them like the good people they were- two people perished on December 11. On December 14, three days after the Clackamas shooting, two days after I began to see the faces of those two people on the news, and one day after I wondered, almost premonition-esque, if this would happen again within the next month-

Looks like I’m psychic.

Now I’m stuck here at 2:00 AM, frustrated that I can’t go to sleep without some serious inner reflection, and I also don’t have any idea how my friend, whose Newtown hometown was wrecked, can talk to me about anything not relevant to how terrible the world is. Thanks to your shining example, I also hear things every day now about how: “oh, someone opened fire again in place X!”

Oh, and I have finals coming up.

I’d appreciate it if you could not shoot anyone up in the next…say, eternity? Because that’s the only way the media will ever stop, stop reminding me how much my heart hurts, how ineffective we are at preventing these horrors that happen more and more frequently, and how much of a wreck I am without Cheetos.

I want to go back to my first-world-problems now. I want to go back to focusing on me, and not worry if the families of the victims are doing okay, etc. I don’t know them, and if I’m not physically in Newtown, or at the homes of the Clackamas slain, comforting the people who I see endlessly crying (more than me, and they might even have Cheetos) on the news every day, then is it useful for me as a human being to know these things?

I heard about opening fire not from my sobbing, scared parents, but from a news outlet and Facebook. I may look and act mostly the same as I did two weeks ago, be a normal, functioning human being, but now everyone walks around casting more glances behind their shoulders. We’re all so scared.

Which is inconvenient for me to handle cause I can’t go to the store and buy my Cheetos. I might not for a while.

So next time, at least wait until I finish that task before you open fire on people, tear ducts and faith in humanity.

That way, I’ll be prepared.

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