In the winter of 1998, I almost died. My then best friend and I were headed to a Goth Night at a sports bar in Mall of America. Don’t judge, it was a blast. The weather outside was not. Snow, ice, and sleet made every inch of road treacherous, and it had been that way for days. And if my roommate and I had to spend another evening in the apartment together, one of us would have gone to jail the next morning.
We were on I-494, creeping our way through the snow and ice, when I happened to glance behind us. A city bus had bene there most of the way, but had lost control, and was now sliding sideways down the highway at increasing speed. I turned to my roommate, told him to punch it. He looked at me like I had lost my mind, until he looked in the rearview. Punch it he did, and we mostly hydroplaned our way to the mall.
I think of that moment often. When depression and low self esteem hit me hard, it feels like I’m on that bus, sliding towards a cliff. I’m just waiting for us to crash into the ground below, helpless in my path towards failure, death, and destruction. I was getting the better of it last year, then 2020 happened.
To say that the last 90 days of 2020 have been a kick in the teeth is an understatement. I’ve had bad years before, but oddly those years were also balanced out by personal triumphs as well. This year feels different. Those years felt like the Tower card in Tarot (my signature one), where great change is wrought by everything falling apart.
2020 is only halfway done, and most people feel like they’ve lived a decade already. Everything feels slower, that you walk through cotton candy to engage anyone or anything. It’s almost as if the whole world has become a small town, where everything is done by sundown, and we’re all concerned over who’s calling on everyone else. Everything shuts down by seven now, and gods help us if the internet shuts down.
When Covid first hit, I’d wondered if the slowdown of the world would force folks to take a long hard look at their world, their neighbors, and then think hard about the way they’re living. I included myself in that group.
Instead, we fell deeper asleep, especially in the thinking department. Who had armed revolt against mask wearing on their card for this year? Anyone? Would anyone know who Carol Baskin was if not for the virus? A lot of us are sleeping, and now is nightmare time.
But maybe this year is the Tower card after all. But it’s not for me, it’s for my country. Covid has forced us to rethink how we work, eat, and treat others. The resurgence of Black Lives Matter would not have happened if not for Covid. If you don’t believe me, ask the families of people like Philandro Castile. And Breon Taylor’s killers still haven’t been arrested.
Just this week, entire industries have been overrun with sexual harassment victims coming forward. More and more people are starting to turn on Trump. Election and voter reform are now nationwide topics. Maybe while some of us are groggy, it’s because others are waking up. We all influence the sleep of those around us at home, maybe it’s starting to do that on a country wide level? I will say most of my neighbors, I really don’t need to see in their PJs.
The tile of this post comes from Revolting Cock’s “Attack Ships on Fire.” I had the poor taste to play that the morning of a naval disaster. That was the first time I was suspended from being a radio DJ, and it wouldn’t be the last. The line about waking up, to me, is about wanting someone to wake up my sleeping body while the ship is on fire. I may be groggy these days, but me and others have smelled the smoke, and are looking for the extinguishers. Please join us, shake off your sleep, and help us all before the ship goes down.