I had several blog posts mentally written last week.
I was going to write about my first "Bye, Felicia," delivered to an unsympathetic male about the Stanford rape case.
I was going to write a serious post about that same case.
I was going to write about some of my observations about faith.
I was going to write about what I planned to do between now and Election Day (which includes, going off the grid on Election Day.)
But after yesterday?
After fifty dead in a pool of blood, the victims of slaughter at the hand of someone who, because he was angry at two men kissing in front of his young son, decided to take it out on an entire group?
After this same person claimed allegiance to ISIS in a 911 phone call?
After the outrage that has exploded on social media, and rightfully so?
There are people dead. There are cell phones ringing in the pockets of dead people that will never be answered. There are text messages that will never be responded to.
There is a city in shock and anguish.
Our President has, once again, gotten up to address a mass shooting, and called for tougher gun laws. It's the same cycle that has repeated itself too many times.
Since December 14, 2012, when 26 people died at Sandy Hook, there have been 1001 mass shootings in the United States. This statistic comes from the Gun Violence Archive, which defines "mass shooting" as an event where four or more people, not counting the shooter, were shot at the same general time and location.
Yesterday, I listened in shock and outrage. I whispered, "Oh, my God," when the news alert came over my iPad that 50 people were dead. I listened to the radio while I was waiting for my husband to come out of church. I listened to the radio again while I was lying down during the afternoon. After my husband and son went to bed, I watched CNN. I posted on Facebook. I read reactions.
Today's headline in the AJC simply reads: MASSACRE.
My heart is sad and broken.
And I am numb.
I have become numb to the reports of shooting, of terror, of hate, of anger and fighting. Shooting and violence and terror have become a way of life. Such reports are almost to be expected.
Today, I grieve.
And I also have to take my son for his senior portraits.
And I have 87 pages to proof.
And I have dinner to make.
And I have told my son that I will take him to our VBS.
And I need to get my prescriptions.
And I need some more frozen berries and eggs.
And I need to return two library books.
I can't deal.
Not only can I not deal, I cannot even shuffle.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.