I recently decided I needed to prioritize my mental health. I took a look at my life and realized it’s not a good time for me to quit drinking and smoking, but I could cut out a lot of stress in my life if I stopped checking the news altogether. Every headline and John Oliver clip is like the modern-day equivalent of a caveman hearing a rustle in the bushes. With all the things there are to stress about these days, making this change felt like Patrick Swayze had entered my brain, removed all of its preconceived notions of society, and then taught it to dance.
Today I woke up and watched a five minute long video of golden retrievers trying to fetch a ball out of a pool. Amazing! I spent breakfast pondering how teacup pigs could get so tiny. I truly considered myself the smartest person in town, as I had clearly discovered the secret to eternal peace of mind. I even texted my family informing them of my plans to write a book (damn, that’s gonna be embarrassing to go back on). Life could not be going better.
This is where everything falls apart. I roll into my friend’s birthday party ready to spread my newfound knowledge, but once I get there, everyone is talking about who Harris might choose for VP and something called Project 2025. I figure this Project 2025 thing is some kind of resolution thing, so I chime in and say I’m going to start exercising more (nailed it), but everyone starts laughing at me. Are we not exercising anymore? Then they start going into Trump’s political agendas for some reason, and I have no idea what the hell anybody’s talking about. They’re using these huge words, and all I can think about is a Tik Tok I saw about freeze-dried Laffy Taffy.
I have to move to a new conversation to get a fresh start. I figure this one will go better for me, these guys usually just talk about baseball and who wants to go on the next beer run. What could go wrong?
Fuck! Cody used to be the dumb one in our friend group, but now he’s talking about the long term impact of a two-rate individual tax system. What the fuck does that even mean? How does HE even know what that means? The last time we got together he asked me if “Armageddon” was based on a true story! This has been a solid blow to my ego, and I know I have to get out.
Pretending to need another drink, I manage to duck out of the conversation, but now I’m just hiding in the kitchen and petting the dog. If you’re reading this, please send help (I worry the dog is about to ask me for my take on foreign policy and I do not have one).