I woke up late two days ago to two news. My sister has malaria, and she is alone in a remote continent. Sure, it sounds worse than it probably is, but it's still very hard, and I can tell my mother feels it weigh on her, especially since she has heard less from her than she likes. One thing we're sure about, though, and that is that my grandmother is not to know until she is safely home with us. It just sounds too bad.
The other thing was that a bridge in our town that we use frequently, has collapsed and people have died. I'm sure people from big cities think it's irrational to take bad things like this to heart. But this is not something normal for us to deal with, and it still sticks. I drove under it myself the day before, and had I still been seeing my psychologist, we might well have been there.
Some times I feel as though I like misery. Murders, disasters, disappearances; I can't help looking at it. I will spend a full day browsing through missing children, just because I feel like someone should. The thought that these missing people have to be somewhere and someone knows something. It stays in my head, like an obsession.
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