The news stories call him Nate, but in my head he’s Nation, because that’s what Jodi Hanson and I always called him. His life has become a news story, and it’s awful.

Nation was just a boy when we moved in down the street from his family in Chippewa Falls. My youngest sisters have been friends with him for 30 years.

Even after my sisters moved back to Minnesota, Sister #2 and I would bring Nation home with us so they could hang out. Whenever we’d get close to passing a car on I-94 one of us would shout “Good posture family!” and we would sit up really straight like a bunch of dorks hoping the car next to us would notice and laugh. I can’t remember if anyone ever did, but it amused us. The drive from Eau Claire to Shakopee can be kind of a bore, especially once you get past Menomonie.

I’ve been thinking about those drives since Sister #3 told us Nation’s son died, and even more so once we learned about the horrible circumstances of his baby’s death. The flowers we sent seem so inadequate. Every word and thought and gesture and ache of my heart is inadequate.

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Much like all of you my Facebook has been flooded with red, white, and blue profile pictures, an Eiffel-towered peace sign and many vague thoughts and prayers for those killed in the attacks on Paris Friday night.

I have stayed mum for the most part about this event. It is horrifying and my heart breaks for all who lost someone they loved and who now feel unsafe. Of course, I am not a monster.

However, it’s weird that I feel the need to say that. Like I have to issue some sort of official statement on this latest news lest someone think I don’t know or that I condone such things. Social media makes us weird.

Watching tragedies like the terrorist attack unfold on the Internet is tough to stomach. It takes roughly ten minutes to go from grief and collective mourning to pedantic lectures about what you should and should not post on social media in the wake of such tragedy. How dare you continue your life in any manner I deem unacceptable right now while I am upset.

And then there are, of course, the myriad people who think it is impossible to care about two issues at once, as though our hearts and brains are only capable of one thing at a time. I saw a lot of stuff like: Paris really puts the Mizzou stuff in context. Because on the Internet you can’t care about systemic racism and horrific acts of terror at the same time.

It’s a weird shaming I don’t quite understand. What is its purpose? Sure, sure you’re trying to point out how frivolous other people are and thus that makes you morally superior for caring about real issues?

I care a lot about the issue of walnuts in brownies and banana bread. I think it is an abomination upon treats. . . walnuts. I also care a lot about police violence against black people and how when we talk about the wage gap we’re always talking about white women and what they earn. Women of color earn far, far, less than men and white women. That’s an abomination too.

Somehow my heart and brain do not explode from caring about many things. And, fun fact, I care about way way more things than that. You should ask me some day about my stance on pie (disgusting baked fruit spooj) or capitalism (the root of all evil).

But shaming and weird-mourning groupthink is not what brought me here. What brought me here today was the weird amnesia that tragedy seems to induce in people.

As I mentioned Facebook is filled with the French red, white, and blue because suddenly we are all French, but I would bet you dollars to donuts that a pretty significant number of those people with their French profile pic were in favor of “Freedom Fries” not too long ago. But whatever, that’s just Facebook nonsense. It matters little.

What really surprised me were the number of Twitter people I follow were totally gobsmacked that such a horrific thing could happen at a concert venue. “They just wanted to go enjoy some music.”

Right? I agree. But, you know, we live in a country where a man can walk into an elementary school and kill six-year-olds and nothing at all changes. Nothing. To my brain, that is the most horrible thing that can happen. Men killing children because: reasons.

So yes, murdering concert-goers is awful, but is it shocking? Nope. I live in a country where six year olds die and nothing is done about it because the NRA pays Congress a lot of money. I live in a country where men often walk into theaters or college campuses or churches to open fire on innocent people. So, yeah, suicidal religious zealots doing the same in a faraway country? Not surprising.

And while I’m getting stuff off my chest. How about Saturday Night Live? Last week the Internet was calling for a boycott of SNL and passing out gifs of John Leguizamo talking about Donald Trump’s racism. The integrity of the institution was called into question. However, this week all is forgiven because they did something thoughtful for France.

Maybe it’s the same thing I’m complaining about, being able to hold two things in your heart. Maybe people can hate SNL for Donald Trump and laud them for last night at the same time.

I don’t fucking know. I am cranky and annoyed and I feel impotent with everything that plagues us so I just come here and whine about things that don’t matter.

Bleh. I am going to go crochet poop emojis for my nephews until I feel better about society.

The post Amnesia & Tragedy & Poop Emojis: A Rant appeared first on I Will Dare.

I still have outrage fatigue. Does this explosion/blast/bombing whatever they are calling it at the Boston Marathon surprise me? Yes and no. We’re a nation, a society where twenty first graders are killed and we do nothing. Why is this senseless act of violence more surprising than all the others? That doesn’t mean I’m no less moved by the bravery and courage of the people of Boston. I weep for the dead, the injured, and the scared. I weep for us all. I expect the weepiness to continue for awhile.

Of course, like so many, I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours thinking about the runners I love and have loved. Is it irony that this fat girl has so many loved ones who are runners? Maybe. Opposites attract? Who knows. But since college my life has been filled with long, lean, beautiful-hearted runners. I’m lucky like that.

So I thought about all those runners last night while watching the truly awful “Diff’rent Strokes” and remembered how the UWEC Cross Country team would inevitably run past Hibbard Hall as I sat out there with a friend and smoked cigarettes all purple-haired twenty-two-year-old bitterness and angst. They’d run by and shout “Chromes, seven minutes, gone!” Because allegedly each cigarette you smoked took seven minutes off your life.

I thought of my beloved niece Jaycie who finds strength, self-esteem, and friends in running on her cross country and track teams. I thought of all the beautiful women I know who run, of which there are too many to list. I thought of all the people I love and know and even the ones I don’t like and I was grateful they were all okay. I thought about how much hate and fear and anger you must have in your heart and soul to want to hurt so many people you don’t even know. I tried to think of a group of people I could hate so much that I would want their blood to splatter across the asphalt and even when I could think of groups of people I despise (Westboro Baptist Church, Tea Partiers, Anti-Marriage Equality Homophones), I didn’t want any of them dead.

But mostly I’ve just been avoiding the news and the pictures, and singing Uncle Neil over and over in my head because whenever I think of runners I think of this song.

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I don’t have much to say about the tenth anniversary of 9/11 (here’s what I said 10 years ago). It’s an event that still feels really raw. Not just because of the enormous tragedy of that day but because of the enormous rift it has caused in our country. It feels as though the the chasm between liberal and conservative is impossible to overcome.

The post Still remains appeared first on I Will Dare.

today, i found out a co-worker who was five months pregnant lost her baby. it is devestating. this is a woman i genuinely like and respect. she’s good at what she does, fair, and funny. everything i enjoy in a co-worker.

when i found out a few months ago that she was pregnant i was overjoyed. she had confided that she and her husband were having problems getting pregnant. this was something they were really looking forward to, she said.

now i cannot even begin to imagine her pain. now when i need my words the most, words that usually come to me so quickly and without effort, i have none.

because really, what can you say?

work is a weird place. you’re thrown together with a bunch of people. some you like and admire, some that you tolerate, and some who you simply cannot tolerate. you work with these people 40+ hours a week, spending more time with these random semi-strangers than with people you’ve known your whole life. and nothing can prepare you for this. where does this all fit into her life? because clearly we, her co-workers, and everything we represent really don’t mean anything right now.

and it’s weird because i feel the need to let her know how sorry i am and that i’m thinking of her and i just don’t have to words or even know that it matters at the moment. it’s even harder because she was so damn nice to me after my grammu died and i never remembered to thank her for such thoughtfulness.

and really, what can i say?

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