Today I checked my facebook while a seventy-five year old woman described in detail how she was thirsty and how her dog was dying because no one cares about her. It’s the only filter I have. This disassociation when the anger at injustice is gone.
I’m instructed not to help. We don’t want to get involved…
Offering the man imprisoned in Ethiopia a list of email links and phone numbers for pro-bono lawyers makes me feel dirty and mean. How will that help his dysentery or kill the lice traveling his hair like wire walkers?
Could I fight? Yes, but I don’t have the stomach for it today. Or the time.
Perhaps it’s the weather or perhaps I’m two days away from five days of bleeding.
Whatever it is, I want to go home. I want my cats, and I want the rain.
