Control: Almost Done…
I, Dalton Lewis, can tell you that we seem to be almost done with this Covid-19 thingie. We’re nearly finished with it. It’s got one bar of health left, and we’re preparing a special. Covid-19 did a lot of damage, killing hundreds of thousands of Americans, but we’re beating it with science and intellect: we developed a vaccine to prevent its spread. Good for us.
What has Covid-19 meant for me? It has meant that I, Dalton Lewis, celebrated writer, have had to sit at home, playing video games and reading pulp sci-fi novels and writing novels. The nerve! I know — I had to stay at home for months on end, barely having any contact with the outside world. I know that it seems like a prison-type situation, but trust me — it isn’t. I had whatever food I wanted, and I could leave at any time. I’d die if I went to a public congregation, but life always has these little risks — like certain death.
This was a great equalizer — the rich and powerful had a similar chance to get this; they had to self-isolate the same as us. Television shows had to be put on hold. Football had to be played mostly without fans. I look at the important people in awe. They live important lives having important careers. I don’t have that. I sit at home playing games and watching television and reading. I’m mentally ill — I scream at the walls. They don’t talk back, fortunately. It’s the voices in my head that talk back. They tell me things.
Sometimes rich people get treated the same. All their money can’t cure the coronavirus known as Covid-19. They have a similar chance to die that a poor person has. They might have a little smaller chance of getting it if the poor person is in a group home — but the rich and powerful often congregate in large groups — which mitigates that factor. Rich people can’t buy a Covid-19 cure. They die from it the same as the rest of us.
The world isn’t fair or balanced. I went to Vegas for a buddy’s bachelor party awhile back. His other friends gambled twenty dollars a hand, and I just freaked out and walked away. I ate a twenty dollar meal that was not one of Vegas’s expensive meals. I couldn’t spend twenty dollars on a hand of poker or blackjack. I spent two hundred dollars on gambling — which I considered a lot of money. It lasted maybe half an hour before disappearing at their tables. I should have used the penny slots and pretended I might win something. I don’t have the money that some people have. I have a nice, middle-class existence — which I enjoy. I don’t envy the rich. I just look up and say, you have that. I accept that. I don’t need it myself.
Why am I not grossly rich? I don’t know. I, Dalton Lewis, struggle as a writer. I do my best, plug away, write a blog, and try to tell the truth to the best of my ability. I know; I should write about galaxy-saving heroes stopping baby-rapers who cackle with glee as they destroy planets. I don’t do that kind of writing. I write about what is real and what is wrong about life. I don’t write about heroes crashing in with superhero landings and fighting big duels with katana-wielding ninjas. I do have fight scenes in my stories — but they are about what is right and wrong with life instead of being mindless stories with action sequences.
I am writing a novel, finishing it really. It’s a horror novel called Modern Goth, a novel about the unhappy people embracing the dark, cynical reality beneath the shiny veneer of American life. The unpopular guy shouldn’t become popular or get the girl. No one tries to destroy reality or take over the planet. There are real characters with real emotions and real stakes. We’ll see if anyone is interested.
Thanks, and take care, friends.
