A Florida mother of eight is sharing her story about her battle with COVID-19. She says she came close to dying and regrets not getting vaccinated. “It was horrifying,” Ganeene Starling said. “I never in my life have felt like I was going to die until that day.”
Starling had chosen not to get the vaccine. Her husband wasn’t vaccinated either or their children. She said she let people influence her in not getting the vaccine.
“Just that it had not been around long. Honestly, I think I listened. I think I let people influence me, like saying, ‘Oh, you know, this is the government just trying to fill our bodies with stuff and they’re trying to push this shot on us,’” Starling said.
It’s like we’re watching people convert in real time … only after it’s too too late. The virus doesn’t care if you believe in it or not. The vaccine is your choice.
And here’s one of those old people [checks notes] 34 year olds dying of the plague. Check out this other conversion story as well. They keep ’em coming! I can’t imagine the political affiliations these people have.
This article about overthinking at the Gaurdian is a holy shit moment for someone like me, who tries as hard as he can to not overthink, but it’s my personality.
Here’s the first bit (emphasis mine):
The first time I remember someone telling me not to overthink was when I was trying to suss out breastfeeding. “Don’t overthink it,” said my friend, “just go with it.”
“Just going with it” is not something I do. I have to really understand what I’m doing and then I think through almost every possibility and eventuality, like a mind map on steroids. And I plan. When people say things like: “Who could have imagined XYZ would happen?” about some entirely predictable outcome, my most common response is “I could”. I have realised that for most people I am an overthinker, but for me, it is others who underthink. I just think.
Of course, it doesn’t take a genius to realise that my overthinking, like most things, probably started in childhood. I had a loving, noisy but at times unpredictable childhood. Dinner was always on the table at the same time, and it was always delicious. My mother and father were always, physically, where they said they would be. But I grew up in a house where emotions weren’t discussed, they were bottled up, only to explode out in random unpredictable ways – or a silence would ensue for some wrongdoing I had to fathom out all by myself.
I’m not sure there’s much that I don’t over think. I still wonder if the dinner I served for my friends on Saturday night was a well-received or not. I bounce in and out of experiences throughout my life wondering if I could have done them differently. I’m overthinking this post as I write it.
I torment over the details and in some ways, this blog is a lesson in “not” over thinking. If I overthought it, I would never put anything out in the world.