No Proscenium

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The Other Cloud

Yesterday’s news was just so oppressively bad that I could feel it. Like there was a blanket of sorrow draped over my shoulders that dragged my whole posture down.

How we deal with crises and adversity in general says a lot about who we are. When there’s a problem right in front of me I know what to do. I slip into the “fixer” gear and shut out all else until the issue is resolved. That’s an incredibly good feeling, actually. A zen focus that ends in a result.

When the problems are geopolitical shitstorms the news of which is delivered to me over the pocket computer that was assembled by indentured servants in everything but name half a world away I’m paralyzed. Reminded that the vast majority of us are bit players in a drama that seems to have no protagonist, just an endless chorus of madmen and sociopaths stumbling blindly towards their own hellish apotheosis.

The emotional gearbox freezes.

I know I should put my head down and work on the things that I can do something about, but it feels pointless. The call to action and the knowledge that I’m powerless to do much, if anything, slam into each other in my solar plexus.

At least there is chocolate. (Until climate change wipes out cocoa, that is.)