After rolling around restlessly in bed for about an hour, I realized that sleep was not an option. So I came downstairs (where I'm typing this now) and decided to pass some time until the world caught up with me.

Often, if I'm trying to widdle away some time, I'll swing by here to read some random diaries. I find it entertaining - and intriguing - to sample someone else's life for a bit. At least it is for me.

So I'll read about her fiance leaving her, his wife nagging him, her sister always stealing her clothes ... and how much she hates that.

I'll hear about his dream of leaving his small conservative Ohio town when he graduates high school ... so he can actually kiss in boyfriend in public. And not be afraid. Or ashamed.

She'll write about her new puppy, her new car, her new job, her new guy. He'll write about the girl he sees every in Tuesday in General Psych. The one with blue backpack that he wishes he could talk to ... but never does.

Some are really sad entries. Her father died yesterday ... and she doesn't know how to live without him. His doctor just called and tests say it's cancer. She doesn't think she can stay. He doesn't want her to leave. She needs to let go but doesn't know how. He needs to move on but doesn't think he can.

But, no matter what the story, no matter how moving or tragic ... there is a measure of distance between me and the author. I know these are real people with real lives ... that these words, for the most part, are actual events happening to actual people ... but still, the computer screen lends a certain amount of sterilzation to the words. If someone writes "I cried all last night" ... it doesn't have the same impact as the actual tears.

Something is lost in the translation.

I'm sure you probably feel the same way about me. I mean, you know I'm a person. You know I live in a house, I have a husband, I adore my cat ...

But I don't think I'm fully human to you. How can I be? No matter how emotionally I write, it doesn't pass for the real thing. Technology has given us packaged reality - sterilized for our immediate enjoyment.

That's what television is. That's what movies are. It's even what photography is to some degree. You can hear on the news "Two children are found locked and starving in a basement. Their foster mother is charged with abuse and neglect". It sounds horrible - and we sympathize. But we can't really feel what is was like in that basement. Hungry and scared. All alone in the dark. We don't feel the dirt on our feet. Or the pain in our stomach. Or the longing in our heart for someone to love us.

Because, if it was us or our children or our family, we would make it our life's goal to change the foster care system. To ensure that something like this would never happen to another child again.

People are motivated by what personally touches their lives. Family of murder victims lobby for the creation of bills to prevent those crimes from happening to other people. Refugees from war torn countries plead for aid to stop the tragedies in their homeland. Mothers of children with autism create campaigns to increase awareness of the disorder. Christopher Reeve has become the spokesperson - and most avid supporter- for spinal cord injury research since his accident.

When it is our life, we can't just walk away. I can read about how someone is hurting and, for that moment, feel their pain ... but then I close the window. I log off. And I go make dinner. Or watch a movie. Meanwhile this person is still in the same pain. Nothing has changed for them.

So, the reason why I was thinking about this is because I was watching MSNBC last night and there was a special on the Afghan war. If you don't know what this is .. the Afghan war took place between the Soviets and the Afghan guerilla forces (the mujahideen), I think, in the early '80s. I'm not really good with historical events ... so bear with me. Anyway, the United States supported the mujahideen ... gave them money, military support because they were fighting against "communism". We promise to rebuild Afghanistan. But we lied. We left them - torn and destroyed by the war that we so fervently supported.

Anyway, this is why they are so angry at us now. Bin Laden didn't just wake up one day and say "I think I'll hate America today." There are always roots to hatred. There has to be some kind of bond. You can't hate without emotion. Someone needs to have hurt you or someone you love, broken your trust, betrayed you, destroyed you, scared you ... there has to be motivation behind the hatred.

So, I'm watching this special ... and it takes you inside Afghanistan. It shows you the people and the tragedies of this place. They show how families line up along a road because they've heard that some prisoners are going to be released. Then we see this young man ... can't be more than 23 years old ... he has scars all over his chest from where he's been beaten, his fingernails are nearly gone from where he's been tortured ... but he's smiling. He's smiling because hasn't seen his family for nearly a decade. He was taken when he was 15 ...taken prisoner for no legitimate reason and tortured every day until his release.

I see the pain of this country. The horror of this country.

And, as much as I despise war, I find myself supporting it. To end this misery. To end all this pain.

Then a commericial break comes and I get up and go downstairs to make some hot cocoa.

And I get pissed because we don't have any milk ... and I really wanted a hot cocoa. Immediately, my mind completely forgets about Afghanistan and the war and the torture and the horror ... and all I can think about is how I would give my right kidney for some damn milk.

In an instant, I have completely forgotten that these people even exist.

The television has provided me distance. Just like my computer screen. I can switch it off whenever I feel like it. If I'm bothered too much, I can simply change the channel.

Things would be much different if all this was happening right outside my door. If it is was my family, my brother with all those scars.

I can be damn sure I wouldn't be thinking about hot cocoa.

Jake complains that I feel too much for other people. That I am abnormally empathetic and this limits me in many ways. I am completely unable to keep any amount of emotional distance. I wear my heart on my fingertips. So everything touches it.

This scares me because if I am so overly-sensitive to the world ... and I can still distance myself so readily ... what about everybody else? The "normal" people who don't get too involved?

If the world is mostly populated with these people then what hope do we have to ever change things?

We need to feel the pain in order to be motivated to stop it.

Otherwise, we can simply walk away.

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