I don’t suppose it would be right to have a journal/blog and not write about what goes on around me, would it?
I was going to join the Nablopomo challenge to post once a day – every day – for the month of February. Their topic was love, relationships and sex. Phht… seemed like the perfect month to choose. It’s short and it’s a topic I don’t have problems writing or talking about. And we all know I’ve got plenty of opinions. But, I didn’t do it. My muse is there… but she’s just not been prolific, nor interested in much.
I have to say, if the sun doesn’t come out soon, I’m liable to curl up under my desk in a blanket fort and tell everyone to leave me the hell alone until it’s Spring! Bleh, bleh and some meh to boot.
The Baltimore Ravens, my default football team simply because I live and work in the city, won the Superbowl. Let me state for the record, I’m not a big football fan. In fact, I believe I’ve written in the past about my distaste for the whole “event” of football. But winning the Superbowl tends to make everyone else around me happier in some way so I have been analyzing and noticing how I feel about it all just a bit more.
First, the excitement, pride and camaraderie provided by having your local team do well in any National League was pretty good for the moral of Old Mobtown. Merchants sold more goods and money was dumped into the local economy. People felt like they were a part of a common thing. Purple Friday was allowed in many businesses and there was something pleasant to discuss casually. These things I can see from a logical standpoint.
Then came the parade on Tuesday. It was a peaceful, joyous and exciting event – or so I’m told – which I was invited to attend, but declined. Watching the coverage on TV,
was enough for me. The yelling, hooting, screaming and practically unintelligible shout-outs that were given made my insides recoil. I don’t blame others for their enthusiasm, please don’t get me wrong, but I don’t seem to enjoy that kind of display at all. My reaction is one of fleeing the scene and hiding from the discomfort it brings.
Looking at photos, though, and seeing how many people attended, gives me a whiff of involvement, without the dancing around the fire in loincloths and arm pumping madness with our spears. I’m betting I was the old woman who sat off to the side and observed in that scenario. Or, just like the Chinese sign I’m born under, maybe I’m afraid I’ll be the rabbit roasting on the spit, so I run away and hide instead.
This… this scares me… I wonder why. People enjoying themselves, crushed together and wearing purple wigs… what’s there to be frightened of?