Call Me Wuss
Look, I believe in knowing what's going on. But I am also a worrier. An equal opportunity worrier: health, politics, the kids, weather. You name it, I'll obsess about it. Spouse, who is one of the world's great humans, has become used to me rolling over in the middle of the night and muttering, "I'm not dying of some weird disease, am I?" "No, you're fine," he'll say, and that's all I need in that moment. But I can as easily lie awake worrying about the ozone layer and weather patterns (which is my current fret) or whether Sarcasm Girl has an adequate social life or...whatever. I believe the technical term is anxiety neurosis.
Whatever the hell it is, it means that I can get overwhelmed by the news and paralyzed thereby. This is probably exacerbated by the fact that I read an awful lot of SF in the 70s of the "if this goes on" variety, and am quite capable of projecting a future in which my beautiful daughters live out their lives enslaved or grubbing for survival in a nasty apocalyptic world. It's hard to think about whether I want to paint the sunroom, or figure out who has to be picked up when on Friday afternoon, when I'm obsessing about what current events mean about the future. Not thinking or worrying, but obsessing. So, while it makes me feel a little weak and shallow, I'm stepping back from the news a little bit until I get the worrying under control.