White, white wine

I leaned back in my chair, it was as comfortable as I could describe, yet I was uncomfortable. The television news was blaring its latest horror stories from the Middle East, and I was numb. I kicked myself in my mentally for my aloofness from the story…but, I thought, “just how long are they going to keep this up?” I felt a mix of compassion and distance as I saw them carrying an injured boy that looked not much older than 10 from a building left in rubble. The distance I felt was callousness that had developed over many years of seeing these pictures.

Funny how people criticize the feeling of callousness without understanding what developed the insensitivity, I thought, hadn’t I heard, or read, or maybe seen a news program where they had said that constant exposure to tragedy and pain that you could do nothing about was harmful to the human spirit? That was it…that was it, that was why I avoided those programs as much as a news junkie could.

I sat in my chair, swirling the glass of white. As the wine swirled, it left a slight film on the glass as a promise of body and flavor. Through the yellowish white, nectar of the gods, I saw the launch of missiles...somehow they didn't seem quite as intimating when seen through the yellowish white promise of flavor. I was down to the last half inch at the bottom of the glass…I slowed my drinking because I didn’t want it to disappear, I had more, much more in the cooler, but I promised myself only one glass tonight…but now it was gone, and wait, I hadn’t really had a full glass of wine…I could have just a little more…right?