The World We’ve Created

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We made it on our own.

Over two dozen people, including the pastor’s young teen daughter, were murdered by a domestic terrorist in church Sunday morning. Other parishioners were shot, including a five-year-old boy, and a two-year-old girl.

Another man with a gun–or two men, the details are still confused–chased the terrorist down and “stopped” him.

People started talking about gun control. Other people started talking about their sacred “hobby” of collecting guns and hunting and target shooting.

A photo started to circulate of a trophy hunter, a person with more money than sense or morals, with a dead snow leopard draped around his shoulders.

I work remotely and avoid “regular” people as much as possible because I don’t understand their world. My vampire characters in my series make more sense and have a greater system of morality than the majority of the people out there.

I was going to give up freelancing and return to the outside work world . . . retail, secretarial work, temp work because tis the season, although it feels like nothing, really, just warm and chilly days and nights, leaves falling, crows calling, an owl that has settled in somewhere nearby and hunts at night.

The owl hunts because it has to. A lot of people where I live rely on hunting for food. They’re not the guy with the dead snow leopard hanging around his unworthy shoulders. They are concerned about their guns, I’m sure, but believing in gun control doesn’t make one anti-gun. I’m not anti-gun. I’m anti AR-15s in the hands of men with grudges, violent men who’ve lost their easy targets of rage, their wives or girlfriends.

I don’t like to think that shooting is a relaxing hobby and accepted in American society. It seems like emptying a lot of rage instead of doing anything productive. “There is more skill in photographing an animal than using a rifle.” –https://twitter.com/SeymoreBobbyRay/status/927439684539645952  This Twitter user is 100% correct. Why is using an object meant to kill now a way to “work out” one’s frustrations? Take up martial arts. Take up boxing. Take it out on a heavy bag. Get freaking counseling.

People mock me for collecting dolls. It’s not a “grown-up” hobby. Dear Goddess, let me never have a grown-up hobby. People mock my religion as not a “real” religion while “real” religious leaders say . . . bring guns to church.

What we know about the terrorist who murdered at least 26 people in church yesterday morning is that he was young, had been married, had at least one child, assaulted his wife and child, and was dishonorably discharged from the Air Force, court-martialed for his abuse of his family.

Another angry young white man who, as so many women said on Twitter, went from domestic violence to mass murder.

I ultimately left my abusive ex-husband because of the gun in the bedroom.

I have no desire to be out in the world that breeds all those mindsets, and that world doesn’t want me. I see growing hostility and suppressed anger when I go beyond my little town to a town with department stores. I don’t carry a gun, I don’t advertise my politics. But I don’t get out of the way of aggressive men or women. I confront them. I don’t like it. I don’t like having a trip to the grocery store turn into an argument with a pushy person in line who has a red face and clenched fists.

I’ll just be at home, taking care of my mother and cats, writing, and building my doll collection. And voting. One thing I can do to fight back against those people with clenched fists and guns is vote.

I’m a contented stereotype in the world I’ve created. That world outside is devolving. I don’t want to be in it as it dies.

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