Last week I hit the wall. I know readers look forward to provocative opinions and biting commentary, but I needed a break from the chaos of the news. C’mon, don’t we all?
I decided to ration my exposure in the interest of self-preservation.
So, I’m not going to engage in analysis of the Supreme Court’s descent into the MAGA cult of mass destruction and irrelevance, or the nonsense on cable news over how paying hush money to a porn star and lying about it on financial documents is no big deal for a presidential candidate, or the fact that legions of Republican elected officials refuse to ensure that women have the right to contraception.
It’s tedious and downright depressing.
I won’t comment on Lauren Boebert’s campaign against the release of the video of her delivering a hand job to her companion during a show at the Buell Theatre. (She got caught. It will be referenced in attack ads for months. Enough said.)
And don’t expect me to join the chorus of people blaming Joe Biden for high grocery prices when study after study has found that the monopoly supermarket chains are ripping us off and taking record-breaking profits.
We’re being exploited and manipulated, and it’s likely to continue for at least another five months.
That means we all need an occasional detox.
Others may be microdosing psilocybin or moving to Uruguay. I’m not there … yet. Instead, I’m deep into escapism.
I’ve prescribed myself an intense course of pleasure-inducing diversions, no alcohol or mood-altering substances required.
I started with regular walks along the Cherry Creek trail, where the flocks of spring goslings are adorable. Don’t harsh my mellow by telling me that they’ll just grow up to be poop factories in the city’s parks. Right now, they are precious, swimming happily behind their dutiful parents who keep a close eye on them and teach them to paddle along more or less in line. I can’t help but love them.
I have turned down the volume on the evening news and engaged in marathon Rummikub tournaments with my husband.
Sometimes dinner gets seriously delayed. (Just three games. OK, best of seven … I’m not really hungry, are you?)
We’ve been at it for days now and I’m not sure who’s winning. Which is perfect.
My reading choices have also been altered.
After a series of great novels delivering blistering social commentary (“Chain Gang All Stars” by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah), heartbreakingly visions of hardship and forbearance (“James” by Percival Everett) and reflections on racism and corruption (“Small Mercies” by Dennis Lahane), I fell hard for “Remarkably Bright Creatures” by Shelby Van Pelt.
This lighthearted little tale with a lonely widow and an octopus escape artist was just what I needed.
I don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say happy endings are underrated, especially right now.
In honor of the summery weather, I planted herbs in my balcony pots and put a bouquet of flowers on the dining table.
Then, needing a megadose of culinary bliss, I baked a colossal cake loaded with butter and sugar (God forbid!) for my grandson’s birthday. I filled it with piles of berries and covered it in thick, gorgeous icing.
Then I ate a huge piece and refused to feel guilty about it. In fact, I brazenly scraped the last globs of cream cheese and mascarpone frosting off the plate with my finger and licked every bite.
I took a quick getaway to a beach where I paddled with manatees, swam with other women in desperate need of collagen just like me, and played gin rummy with people I love.
I settled in for a long-awaited new season of “The Bear,” hoping for real love for Carmie this time and another spectacular performance by Jamie Lee Curtis. I binged on “Hacks.” I turned up the volume on the car radio and sang “Dixie Chicken” at the top of my lungs. I bought a bag of overpriced Bing cherries and ate them until my lips were stained dark red.
I dialed in the focus on a pair of binoculars and watched an osprey dive into a raging mountain creek and come up with a trout in its talons. Awesome.
I watched the hilarious video of a 6-year-old kid mugging for the C-Span camera while his dad droned on the House floor. And then I watched it three more times.
On that note, I took a nap.
And then I exchanged long overdue emails with one of my oldest friends, who caught me up on her life and reminded me of the importance of simple friendship and love.
With no commentary at all, she attached a cartoon by Wayne Ng that was one of the most inadvertently optimistic views of our future that I’ve seen in a very long time.
It had a drawing of Snoopy at the keyboard.
“And, after all the dust settled,” he typed, “they suddenly realized America had been saved by a porn star.
“The end.”
Ah, salvation is still possible. I’ll get back to the news again soon once I can bear it.
Despite it all, I refuse to abandon hope.
And, well, if all else fails, we’ll always have cake.
Diane Carman is a Denver communications consultant.
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