Who can help me quit caring so much?

(605 words)

I wonder if caring too much is going to kill me.

I care so much about so much.

Do you care that I care?

I care whether you do or do not.

I care the bees are disappearing. I read all the stories that say the bees are like the canaries in mines. Once they go, that’s it. We’re toast.

I care that prior to sensitive air monitoring systems many innocent canaries in mines were poisoned through no fault of their own. What a sad fate that was for so many sweet, lovely birds.

I don’t think she really cared, but I cared very much last week when an area school superintendent e-mailed and nonchalantly informed me a scheduling change meant she’d be canceling my Thursday motivational speech to her 150 teachers.

Gone was the tidy honorarium and the $1,800 worth of books she was going to buy for her teachers.

I care I’m still the kind of imperfect human who nurtures bitter intentions to exact petty revenge. I wish that wasn’t part of my make-up but, alas, it is. And I’ll be sure to let you know if I do something sly and dastardly to get even.

I care so much about my children. That’s mostly natural.

But I care about yours, too. All the children. I really do. Nothing breaks my heart like seeing a child with no chance. 

I care when I see so many people who don’t care one bit. I know all their carelessness can cancel out a lifetime of my really caring the hell out of things. The equation is patently unfair.

If I didn’t care so much about avoiding a lengthy prison term, I’d shoot all the miserable bastards.

Boy, do I care about the environment. I care that California is mired in a devastating drought and is becoming burnt to a crisp.

I care the EPA inadvertently released one million gallons of toxic water into the Animas River near Denver. Will I have to choose sides if the EPA decides it has no choice but to sue itself?

I care that it’s likely you’re working too many hours and I’m working too few.

I care that we’re living in times of such wanton disparity between the rich and the poor and so many people are fundamentally screwed.

I care that so many seemingly sensible people think the solution to all these troubles is to elect an irredeemable jackass like Donald Trump.

I care too much about things I understand are silly.

For instance, I care enormously whether on any given night the Pittsburgh Pirates win or lose.

In fact, it depresses me more when they lose or a key player like pitcher A.J. Burnett goes on the disabled list than it does when I hear a killer typhoon is zeroing in on some hapless Pacific island full of strangers I never met.

What’s wrong with me?

I care that people may misconstrue this arbitrary Monday post about how much I care into thinking I’m in a sour mood.

I’m not. I rarely am.

I just wonder if I care too much about so much that’s entirely out of my hands.

I care even though I know there’s nothing I can do about racism, injustice, gun violence, climate change, incivility, hopelessness, parental dementia, rising drug use, epidemic suicide among our vets, the Keystone Pipeline, distracted driving, male pattern baldness, ISIL, and the horrifying certainty America will likely for the next three decades be subjected to dozens of reliably awful new Adam Sandler movies.

We’re all going to die anyway.

So who cares?

I do, goddamn it.