... but sometimes I hate keeping up with the news.
This morning I woke up at sparrows so I could get to work early in order to leave the office this afternoon in time for a wax, where I will pay someone enough to feed an impoverished family for about a week so she can rip my hair out by its follicles. I weighed out my cereal for breakfast, because my biggest goal in life isn't staying alive, or eking out a living really, but to lose weight and look good. And at the moment I'm in the process of editing a high-end lifestyle magazine in which we showcase watches that cost roughly the same as sending a child to school for a month.
Elsewhere in the country, a family woke up after having had two of its members shot, one fatally, and its youngest daughter raped in front of her father. Another family of five, including two boys aged eight and two, didn't wake up at all, having all been shot in the head by the same drug-crazed gang members that traumatised the first family. I'm almost not sure who I feel more sorry for. Probably the first family, because they have to pick up the pieces and try to remember what everything was like before it didn't hurt to be alive.
It's dizzying, and heartbreaking, and makes me struggle to breathe.
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