I used to spend every school holidays with my aunt Marie. We never actually did anything but I remember having a great time. She would let me watch TV from the time I rose til the time I went to bed. At my parent’s house I was only allowed to watch an hour a day; I had to be very selective with my scheduled viewing. At aunt Marie’s the only time I ever lost control of the remote was during the evening news – It was a little annoying because it meant that I missed the Simpsons. My aunt would watch each news article so intently. No one I knew seemed as concerned about the lives of other people around the globe. Even though I was quite young it made me feel like a bad person; I could never reach that level of empathy, even for my closest friends and family. I told my dad about my concerns. His response was very reassuring, although, it was probably a little cynical for a child whose soul had not yet been crushed by the weight of the world. He said: “My sister is addicted to the tragedies of others; without actually knowing she craves the deaths of millions so that she can feel.” That must’ve been twenty years ago and the words are still seared into my brain. Every time I flick through the channels of the TV I am reminded of them. The sheer number of news programs available each day is actually mortifying. My aunt is obviously not alone in her addiction.