I’m currently trying to decide if I have no soul, or if I simply have a somewhat unusual survival instinct. Tragedies like the shuttle, which leave others in a flurry of discussion and posting, cease to worry me before the day is out.

Simply put? I don’t care.

I’ve never felt anything very strongly except for despair, love, and occasionally fear. Everything else is brief and far away, and I’ve learned to deny what I can feel so that I can at least pretend to function. I’m still alive because I don’t dwell on things. Which is ironic, yes, as living is the last thing I want to do, but as I seem to be stuck with it, I’m determined to make it as unhellish as I can.

Which isn’t much. But its something.

So, fifteen minutes after I heard about the shuttle, I had ceased to care. The evening of the WTC attack, I’d had well beyond up-to-here of hearing of it. They don’t touch me. I’m sorry if that’s cold, but honestly, unless you knew someone who was lost in either incident, it doesn’t touch you, either. You’re just pretending it does. You’re sympathizing. You think “oh, how awful” and you feel, in an attempt to connect, and support, regardless of whether or not you will ever meet anyone who it actually effects.

I don’t feel it. I don’t particularly want to. I. Don’t. Care. And the more everyone focuses on these things, the gladder I am of it. And the more I wish I could make everyone else not care, too, so that we could shut the fuck up and move on. So I think, from now on, I’m going to take “heartless” as a compliment.

All having a heart does is make you cry. And I do that just fine on my own.