Finding Joy Online

I finally understand why the Internet is so popular. And by popular I mean that all living, breathing, functioning persons past the age of about ten spend all their free time there. It's because it allows us to blot out the reality of our own lives (and inevitable death) with videos of cats, dogs, cats snuggling with dogs, cats nuzzling baby chicks, dogs chasing grown chickens and people cooking dead chickens in crock pots with canned mushroom soup and shredded cheddar cheese, and read essays by other people to see what we should be doing instead.  

What clarified this for me was an article online about a 44-year-old surfer in Hawaii who suffered a fatal wound from a shark's fin to the groin. It focused on the surfer's heartbroken daughter who posted her grief online, writing, "I wish this had never happened" and "I wish I could have given you one last hug." Her Instagram numbers soared.

So many thoughts flooded my mind. Like whenever someone I love dies I also wish it hadn't happened. And when my death comes I'm sure I would wish it wouldn't have, if dead people could still wish. But reading about this surfer's untimely death made me grateful to be alive, although not being a surfer myself and  never swimming with sharks, it didn't hit me too hard.

Just like how stories of Hunter Biden, a bigger asshole than most of us, and his whole shady deals-drugs-prostitutes-bribery-daughter-out-of-wedlock grab our attention and hold on like a pit bull with a toddler. Now we learn that SCOTUS member Sonya Sotomayor is also no angel, hawking her children's books to the tune of $3 million, give or take. What's worse, she makes her staff do the hawking and the taxpayers foot the bill. 

Compared to what I read online, my life is joyous and to be celebrated. I'm still alive, with no wounds to my groin, and honest to a fault. I'm a saint, really. So today is a good day. See, I feel better already, and all I had to do was turn on my computer.