Writer’s Block: The Summer of My Discontent

By Corinne Wnek

There is something magical about a cloudless sky in July. I envision the blueness of the ocean while I’m intoxicated by the scent of the lavender and orange mint that is carried across my deck. Surrounding my private little piece of heaven are trees, roses and an assortment of colorful blooms. It is summertime and the livin’ is easy, or so the song says. And then without warning, the world seems to spiral downward. This is becoming the summer of my discontent.

I’m pretty hot these days and not just because of the multiple heat waves we’ve had this season. I’m angry about a lot of things that have occurred, some more serious than others, but all tragic, sad or just plain annoying. Here’s why my personal thermostat is on its way to breaking records this summer.

How is it that one day you’re a doctoral student of neuroscience and the next an alleged mass murderer of innocent people? How is it that a theater full of moviegoers, anticipating a night of cinematic fun, were suddenly forced to run somewhere, anywhere, for their lives? The Colorado theater tragedy reminds me that terrorism is alive and well in America, too. Crazy is crazy. Whenever there is a reckless disregard for life, a dark night has indeed risen.

I’m saddened by the passing of Sally Ride. She was brave and brilliant and seemed so, well, down to earth. In truth, Sally could have taken me under her wing and personally tutored me every day for a year and I would still have been a marginal student of science. That’s because my left brain needs a serious tune up or, at the very least a squirt of WD-40, to get it going. But I feel sure that her energy alone would have had me wanting to at least try harder. Why do we seem to lose great people when they’re still in the prime of life?

Did you see the video gone viral of Bristol Palin’s son, Tripp, shouting the ‘F’ word to her in the middle of a hissy fit he was throwing? Now, it’s not that this kid uttered ‘the mother of all profanities’ that bothers me so much because kids repeat what they hear. It’s the mother’s reaction to this, all laughs and a giggle, which makes me want to utter a profanity, too. Here’s a tip Bristol: How about a little maternal intervention here to help Tripp keep his trap in check.

And do I really care about Mitt’s back income taxes? About as much as I care about where Barack Obama was born. Can we please just ramp up the economy by helping businesses with tax incentives to keep and bring back manufacturing jobs to the United States? Hint: Made in the USA.

And can we just stop trying to keep up with the Kardashians? Who are these people whose income probably approaches our national debt but about whom no one, absolutely no one, can explain why we even know about them? Oh that’s right. I forgot about that sex tape. Mea culpa.

Rant complete. Time for a nice glass of lemonade since, even for me, it’s too early for happy hour.

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