I am sensitive. Don't laugh. Or at least, please don't laugh at me. Ok, you can laugh at me, but please don't tell me a tragic story. I have hit empathy overload.
I went for lunch with a friend the other day and heard of an act of violence that had been inflicted someone we know. That night I had vigilante dreams of fashioning weapons and defending those I love. Woke up exhausted.
Then I read about the backhoe attack in Jerusalem (I just taught Gabriel the name of that truck), the Karadzic arrest and revisited the massacre of all those thousands of souls in Bosnia, then wondering how so many of our societies can get so sick that they welcome a psychopath home as a hero (story on Lisa's blog).
Is it just me, or is every other story in the news about something awful happening to a child? Gabriel screams in his sleep these days and sometimes I rush in, imagining all kinds of things that could be happening to him, but there he is, his tiny tender body flopped out in his crib, breathing steadily.
The book I am reading is beautiful, but so heartbreaking. The latest TAL podcast talks about people who have come face-to-face with death. Enough. I need a break from all this empathy that is turning me into jelly. I needed something light.
So I went out for drinks with Emily last night who is getting married this weekend and we drank tequila cocktails and walked home, tipsy, arm-in-arm in the rain. Life is good. Last weekend, we had a relaxing stay at a rented cottage with some lovely folks.
Next week I am taking some precious vacation time. I plan to take beautiful bike rides and to find an uplifting book to read. Something edifying, funny, but not flluffy. Any recommendations? (feel free to recommend bike routes, too).
