A couple of months ago, I started writing an essay about toxic empathy – the point at which our caring for others becomes detrimental to ourselves. I have a fair amount of first hand experience on the subject, and have seen people slip into this pit, never to be seen as their whole selves again.

The word on the street is Hanta Virus. One can tell by the hushed tones, and careful media coverage, that even though the cruise ship outbreak is still considered a localized event, and the virus doesn't appear to be spreading any differently than usual, a lot of people are holding their breaths.

It's funny -- in a laugh so I don't cry way -- to notice how people are getting dumber. Yes, social skills have crumbled (ask anyone who's worked in the service industry, or with the public long enough to see), and we can blame the whole internet for that.

Let's take a short time warp back to Monday of last week. It was a lovely day, the hope of spring was shining brightly, and I was sure we'd seen the last frost warning of the season. (More disappointed than surprised, my flowers are in for the night as I write this, because, well, weather.)

While everything at the moment feels like an unprecedented shit-show-screaming-match, collectively, we seem more sensitive than ever. It’s logical that being pulled in so many directions while navigating the incessant noise and schoolyard level communication styles leaves us all a bit raw.

My mind loves a loop. It finds something that doesn't fit, or sit correctly with me, and proceeds to circle it until it's emotionally processed, logicized, or definitively solved.

Times of secure, stable, peace are few and far between (for some countries more so than others, and globally all at once, it's never happened). Thus, peace is one of those ideas that runs as an undercurrent, as a rule: pageant queens wish for it, believers pray for it, idealists talk about it.

Humans are storytellers by nature. Even if we're not writing them down or holding court, our brains are always running in the background, constructing stories that help this existence make sense. God, who killed JFK, and what that bitch meant by what she said – it's all the same to our brains. Facts are facts, but our brains crave explanations.

With the sun slowly creeping up to a healthy, normal level, I'm feeling myself normalize as well. In fact, everyone’s got more pep in their step, both colour and pattern have returned to store shelves, and people are posting their first ice cream runs (jackets notwithstanding).

We went out to vape and smoke a joint before the show, leaving our jackets inside. The cold wind made me giddy (uncomfortable, but giddy). It felt like cigs in high school when I didn't want to get my jacket from my locker. It felt like late nights I hoped wouldn't end that had started as early days, and I was dressed for the sun.