Emotional Exhaustion

So this was supposed to be the ranting post against the horror that happened two nights ago in Manchester, England.  I had worked myself up about it all day, ready with fire and brimstone (and a polite redirection for those that did not want to participate in an unusual current events post).

And then I got to point of writing it, and found that I am too emotionally exhausted to do it.

 I think this may have finally overloaded whatever was left of my "Give a D*mn" gene.  Making war against little girls and young women is both despicable and deplorable.  But then again, sacrificing them at some level for the cultural narrative of pluralism is also despicable and deplorable.

Sadly, the usual round of has come to be our outrage will cycle through again:  flowers, stuffed animals, cards, candles and vigils.  Raids will be conducted - too late for the victims of course - and angry discourse about how we can never have this happen again will be spouted forth.

In reality, of course, precisely nothing has been accomplished.

And this is where my emotional exhaustion stems from.

Do not mistake me:  I care.  I do care deeply.  But I cannot continue to care as we have apparently entered a cycle in which we see these attacks, see their devastation, bemoan the injured and dead - and then effectively do nothing, waiting for the cycle to occur again.

I used to wonder how many would have to die before we finally got serious about the issue.  What I find is that in fact we never intend to get serious about it.

The world is on fire.  And I simply cannot muster the emotional strength to care anymore.  All I can do is weep.