Suddenly overwhelmed by all the brutality and cynicism of humankind, and particularly of those that lead us, bitter about vicious deeds and machinations carried out in our name, and struck by random tales of just how strange we can be. Saddened too by the lack of critical thought, by the pettiness, by how gullible and obtuse we’re willing to be (one always hopes or presumes that individuals will mature more quickly than societies).
There are times when those things you generally turn to for reassurance – books, music, gardens and laughter… – feel like cold comfort. You don’t feel suicidal, you’re just plain exhausted.