Nobody seems interested in discussing my deep plunge into Candace Owens’ conspiracy theorizing but I’ll continue. My jaw doesn’t hurt anymore but I still can’t smile without pain. I walk around looking grim, and I need the most bizarre forms of entertainment to avoid feeling like a total sourpuss.
Owens finds it suspicious that one of Brigitte’s daughters didn’t know the date of her dad’s funeral. When I heard it, I realized that I couldn’t name the date of my father’s funeral either. I know when he died but even though my sister and I organized the funeral, I can’t say what the date was. I was crushed by his death, and everything was a blur. That a person would be fuzzy on the details of painful events is the opposite of suspicious. It’s the most normal thing of all.
Overall, Owens’ suspicions are awakened by the fact that people’s stories of their own lives aren’t consistent and clean. This is how all conspiracists think. They are deeply anxious people with low cognitive skills. They can’t accept that there are no easy, clean narratives. Life is messy and complicated. It’s not evidence of anybody’s evil design. It’s simply the nature of human existence. But for a high-anxiety person, it’s easier to believe that there is an all-powerful human agency that controls everything. Because of there isn’t, life becomes too scary.
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