No but really I do care, well, kinda…

 

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So I’ve developed a bad habit of ignoring the news lately.
I mean, thank goodness for PBS’ Independent Lens, without which I might be totally oblivious to the world around me.

Last week, my mom asked me something about the governor of New York and I was like, umm, yeah, he resigned over some sex stuff, right?  In fact, that morning of his resignation, I had rolled over as the news program flashed some WordArt looking text across his face “I’m so sorry.”

I had all I needed to know: the expected temperatures for the day; no traffic craziness to be found on my commute.  All good. 

After our conversation, my mom proceeded to email me a link to a headline news site.

Dang, things have gotten real far gone.

I have a hard time digesting the news and my life at the same time these days as both are wrought with, well misery would be a severe way to put it, but let’s just say that both induce me to too much sleep or none at all; too much food or none at all.  And I would rather be more balanced than that.  So right now, I do not watch the news and rarely buy ice cream as both present imminent danger to my sanity.

In the vernacular of my students, I am so over it.  Translation: unmotivated; without care or concern; couldn’t give a shit.
I know I should care; I was reading some poems I wrote a couple of years ago when I did.  I had dreams of revolutionary love and nation-building.

These days I smirk at black clad, organic eating pacifists.  I cannot figure out if they believe themselves or if the lingering scent of frankincense resin is just part of a costume.  I can’t make myself trust anyone or anything anymore–not the least of which is the media.  I think perhaps, all this means I care quite a bit.

I care enough to know that I cannot be of any service to anybody, any movement, or any  ideal if I can’t be a service to myself.  The latter of which I obviously cannot be if I’m on the other side of sanity.

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