So. Ebola is in Spain now, and the first person known to have contracted the virus outside of Africa is a Spanish nurse. So ebola is on three different continents, which seems pretty significant. Being rather obsessed with the TEOTWAWKI, I should probably say something about this, but oddly, ebola doesn’t worry me, despite being a really freaking nasty virus. Maybe it should. Any deadly virus that’s present on three continents, has already killed thousands of people at a rate of nearly 50% of those infected, and makes victims bleed from their eyeballs is cause for serious concern. I mean…bleeding eyeballs. That’s some heavy shit.
But what strikes me as most interesting is the publicity ebola is getting and the public’s readiness to freak out over it. By night, I write, but by day, I teach junior high, and let me tell you…I’ve heard an awful lot about ebola from my students. Ebola’s in New Orleans. The virus is mutating. No one survives. We’re all gonna die. At least according to my sixth graders.
Today I noticed a normally popular kid sitting alone on one side of an otherwise crowded picnic table. The bench on the opposite side of the table was full, and ten kids were milling about, eating their sandwiches standing up. Why? He sneezed. Pretty sure he’s got ebola.
I keep reassuring them. Statistically speaking, you are more likely to get simultaneously hit by a bus and struck by lightning than catch ebola. None of you are going to die of ebola, so chill and sit next to your germy friend like you always do.
And yet, it’s not like I can reassure them with much authority. After all, I’m the woman with bags of lentils and white rice stored under my bed, just in case of an EMP, a supervolcano, worldwide economic collapse.
Or, let’s face it. Ebola.