If you live anywhere near Vancouver, you’ve been inundated with coverage of the Robert Pickton murder trial.

It’s on the newsstands.

It’s on the television.

It’s on the radio.

It’s on the Internet.

And it’s not just “trial coverage” in the generic sense — this person testified, this person will be called to the stand, the accused looked remorseful, etc. — but coverage in graphic detail. So much so, in fact, that most news agencies are forced to offer “viewer discretion” notices before their pieces.

I have friends who won’t touch the top section of their paper or listen to the top of the news or check their usual internet journalism sites right now, simply because they don’t want to be subjected to the images and descriptions that are accompanying the reports.

The reality is this: the things this man is accused of doing are heinous beyond belief. There’s no other way to say it. If you disappear too far into the details, you end up with a churning stomach and an aching heart. I’m not sure how anyone can read about the events and not feel a serious level of disgust, even in this world of slasher films and true crime dramas and sensationalist media.

We’re jaded, but we’re not this jaded.

And if we are… well, that’s a problem. Sure, we have to be able to deal with horror capably enough to continue functioning. People in war zones have to live their lives under the constant pall of death and mayhem. But there’s a difference between coping and becoming numb. Between survival and acceptance.

At least I think so. Which may be naive, or perhaps just idealistic. I can live with either.

I know violence on this level is not new to the planet. People have yet to run out of methods of abusing or torturing one another, or to grow sick of seizing power over others’ lives. And these things happen daily, all over the world, at every societal level, to people who run headlong into it, and people who never see it coming.

But where does the line exist between exposing these nightmares and celebrating them? Between veracity and prurience?

We want to know what happens to people like Robert Pickton because the idea that he could face consequences for his alleged actions allows us to sleep better at night.

If one of these women was a sister or friend of mine, though, I’m not certain I’d want her experiences splashed across the front page for strangers to read during their coffee breaks. I’d want her agony avenged, but could I stand to watch people take in all the details?

When does coverage cross the line?

How much do we need to know?

And when does notoriety become exploitation?

Where do you stop reading/watching and why?

For those of you who are either new to this blog or completely oblivious (two states I both respect and affirm) — I’m not in a couple.

I don’t have a baby, either. Except everyone else’s.

I’m cool with these facts. For now.

But it’s funny to see how people navigate my singleness, in the most well-meaning ways. When I hold babies, they smile wistfully and reassure me that I will have my own. When they discuss their relationships, they make sure that I feel empowered to seek out my soulmate, whomever he may be.

Because we all have one.

Right?

Don’t we?

Should we worry about it?

Probably not.

In an odd twist of events, the older I get, the less I’m consumed with the questions or the possibilities. I’m not hung up on the pursuit. And I’m certainly not consumed with ideals.

I might love the notion of romance and the soundtrack of romance and all the trappings, but I know that there is no such thing as a flawless relationship.

There are choices and hard work and inspiration and passion and hope. And that’s it. There is no “one.” Maybe effort, maybe chemistry, maybe desire. Maybe all of those things. But a lid for your pot? A piece to complete your puzzle? The sun shining through your cloud? Nah.

There are songs and dances and memories made together and evenings out and stars and kisses, sure.

At the end of the day, though, you decide to make it work. Because nobody’s perfect and nobody’s right all the time. As long as humans are humans and we remain unpredictable in our needs and whims, we will fall in love and still go to sleep now and then slightly pissed off.

I look forward to it. If it happens. If anyone chooses to put up with Meg Fowler: Pain In The Ass.

I’m of a mind to suggest that having someone you care enough to be angry at is one of the surest ways to tell that you’re not alone in this big old world. As crazy as that might sound.

Whenever my friends come to me — me! — for relationship advice, I eventually have to raise the white flag and claim massive levels of ignorance. I don’t know! How does anyone know?

How is anyone ever sure of anything?

But then I end up giving ignorant advice (or as Nancy calls it, assvice) anyhow, because that’s just how I am. And here’s my advice (assvice):

• You don’t always have to be right. Or get to be.
• Going to bed angry is not the end of the world.
• Accepting anger as a way of life might be, though.
• Sometimes, you’re actually the jackass.
• He really does love your body. No foolin’. And vice versa.
• The colour of the living room is not grounds for divorce.
• You might have married into a family, but you didn’t marry them.
• Never fight before you go to a party. If you feel it coming on, agree to drop it. And drop it.
• Past relationships are not a blueprint. They’re just what you did before.
• Dance at stupid times. At the very least, you’ll get a laugh.
• Being an hour late is actually really disrespectful the 100th time you do it. Or the 10th.
• Have you told them that? Because if you haven’t, you shouldn’t tell everyone else.
• Drama is something that is good on TV and horrible in the car.
• You need not merge CD collections.
• Don’t freak out if you don’t cherish the same memories.
• If you can’t think of something nice to say, say something funny.
• Your mom is not always the best tech support hotline for your marital woes. She’s biased.
• You need not watch the same TV shows.
• Cook together, though.
• Learn to listen NOW. Shutting up is an excellent first step.
• Snoring can cause more problems than you think. Go see the damn doctor.
• You don’t have to tell your friends everything.
• Real or artificial might be a big deal for boobs, but it ain’t for Christmas trees. Let it go. You can live without the Douglas Fir if it makes him sneeze.
• The cat will not be scarred for life if you kick it off the bed now and then.

I love love.

But I know it doesn’t come without sacrifice.

It better not come without laughter.

And that’s all I know.