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I'm not generally too emotionally affected by death and horror in the news. I'm good at staying detached, and I see that as a good thing, for the most part. I know people who get overwhelmed by all the nasty shit that happens in the world, and it's hard for them. I think most Americans are pretty good at keeping their emotional distance from things that happen in other countries, and only get really invested when there are other Americans involved. Sometimes that seems hypocritical to me, but that's actually bullshit, unless they're faking it. Emotional reactions are what they are, and I shouldn't judge other people's. It makes sense for people to be most affected by events they feel close to. My knee-jerk accusations of hypocrisy are just me being defensive about the fact that I don't cry over school shootings.
This Boston Marathon thing, though. This shook me up. A big part of that, I'm sure, is that Patrick Burke was running the marathon for You Can Play, and live-tweeting the experience, and it took a while after the explosions for him to update the internet about his well-being. I already end up in tears every time I spend too much time thinking about Brendan Burke's death and legacy; I don't know how I would handle it if anything happened to Patrick. I don't know him personally, aside from a couple of Twitter interactions, but I follow his Twitter account religiously and his work with YCP matters to me on a level I'm not sure it's possible to explain.
Patrick's last tweet before the news of the explosions broke was, "If I don't make it through this, I want my last words to be: I love my family. I love hockey. And I hate the instigator rule." Or something like that. He's deleted that tweet now, for obvious reasons.
Another possible reason that this has affected me so much is that the last time I was at the place where the explosions happened, it was during the 2009 Boston Marathon. I jaywalked through the marathon itself, as a matter of fact; I hadn't known the marathon would be happening that day, and found myself on the opposite side of it from the store I'd made the long pilgrimage from Worcester to visit. That was approximately half a block away from the intersection where the second explosion went off. I didn't actually remember that incident until I clicked through to the Boston Globe's graphic of the area hours after the explosions happened, but I know well enough that brains sometimes pick up on things without necessarily letting you know.
When I decided I'd had enough of refreshing Twitter for updates on the situation in Boston, I went to the park for a while. I put on my socks that Ava gave me, the pink ankle socks with I ♥ ORLANDO on them that she got for me in Thailand, where everything was dirt-cheap and slightly nonsensical. They have giant holes in the heels now--I wore them so much in my mid-teens that they were already falling apart when Ava died, and I don't think I've worn them since. I felt the urge today, though, because humans are strange and sometimes tragedy loves company. I swung on the swings for quite a long time, and I tried to sort out my thoughts and feelings. I'm pretty good at feelings, despite what those of you who know my fandom tastes might think. I know how they work. I just don't like them very much.
I spent a lot of time in parks when I was a teenager, swinging on swings. I thought at the time that I was escaping my family, but it turns out that even when you don't have to share your space with five other people and three to four animals, sometimes it helps to go to a park and swing for a while.
The Coyotes/Sharks game is about to start. Phoenix is barely clinging to the edge of their playoff hopes, and Smitty's out with an injury again, damn it. I don't even know what LaBarbera's deal is. But Johnson's been good for us in net the few times he's had to play this season, so I'm optimistic. Hockey is a good thing to think about. I'm gonna go think about that.
This Boston Marathon thing, though. This shook me up. A big part of that, I'm sure, is that Patrick Burke was running the marathon for You Can Play, and live-tweeting the experience, and it took a while after the explosions for him to update the internet about his well-being. I already end up in tears every time I spend too much time thinking about Brendan Burke's death and legacy; I don't know how I would handle it if anything happened to Patrick. I don't know him personally, aside from a couple of Twitter interactions, but I follow his Twitter account religiously and his work with YCP matters to me on a level I'm not sure it's possible to explain.
Patrick's last tweet before the news of the explosions broke was, "If I don't make it through this, I want my last words to be: I love my family. I love hockey. And I hate the instigator rule." Or something like that. He's deleted that tweet now, for obvious reasons.
Another possible reason that this has affected me so much is that the last time I was at the place where the explosions happened, it was during the 2009 Boston Marathon. I jaywalked through the marathon itself, as a matter of fact; I hadn't known the marathon would be happening that day, and found myself on the opposite side of it from the store I'd made the long pilgrimage from Worcester to visit. That was approximately half a block away from the intersection where the second explosion went off. I didn't actually remember that incident until I clicked through to the Boston Globe's graphic of the area hours after the explosions happened, but I know well enough that brains sometimes pick up on things without necessarily letting you know.
When I decided I'd had enough of refreshing Twitter for updates on the situation in Boston, I went to the park for a while. I put on my socks that Ava gave me, the pink ankle socks with I ♥ ORLANDO on them that she got for me in Thailand, where everything was dirt-cheap and slightly nonsensical. They have giant holes in the heels now--I wore them so much in my mid-teens that they were already falling apart when Ava died, and I don't think I've worn them since. I felt the urge today, though, because humans are strange and sometimes tragedy loves company. I swung on the swings for quite a long time, and I tried to sort out my thoughts and feelings. I'm pretty good at feelings, despite what those of you who know my fandom tastes might think. I know how they work. I just don't like them very much.
I spent a lot of time in parks when I was a teenager, swinging on swings. I thought at the time that I was escaping my family, but it turns out that even when you don't have to share your space with five other people and three to four animals, sometimes it helps to go to a park and swing for a while.
The Coyotes/Sharks game is about to start. Phoenix is barely clinging to the edge of their playoff hopes, and Smitty's out with an injury again, damn it. I don't even know what LaBarbera's deal is. But Johnson's been good for us in net the few times he's had to play this season, so I'm optimistic. Hockey is a good thing to think about. I'm gonna go think about that.
