I apologise for neglecting you as of late. Yes, I’ve been busy, but if I’m honest — and you know I try to be as frequently as I can — it’s not my status as a globetrotter that’s kept me from you: it’s just that I’ve been struggling with compassion fatigue.
Thoughtful people like myself are at risk of compassion fatigue, which so-called experts define as “feeling overwhelmed, confused and depressed by the crap state of affairs.” And I’m afraid I’ve fallen ill with it.
Symptoms include a foggy head, dizziness and an inability to rant and/or rave about topics as varied as Edward Snowden, the US Supreme Court and Glastonbury. Sufferers may find themselves asking questions like “Am I making a difference in the world?” and “Does Miley Cyrus even matter?”
While I’ve appreciated Christopher’s nursing skills (and his willingness to wear the outfit), I’m afraid doctors believe the illness has to simply run its course before I’ll start feeling better. They suggested reciting affirmations while looking in the mirror or hanging a list of my accomplishments on the fridge as ways to boost my self-confidence, but quite frankly, that’s just silly. Clearly, the problem isn’t me. It’s the world.
However, I’m always prepared to follow doctor’s orders especially if it involves my lounging around all day while Christopher waits on me hand and foot. I know I’ll bounce back. I have always been a person who cares — it’s who I am — and I couldn’t stop caring even if I cared to.
Thank you to all who have sent notes and packages to wish me well as I recover. Even though I’m incapable of giving a shit about them at the moment, I’m sure I’ll be appreciative once I’m back to my normal, über-compassionate self.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
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