Isolating Relevancy

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, I go about the business of my personal life with the greatest sense of urgency. Everything I do seems important, if only to me. I awaken each morning, early, and feed the cats, because the cats demand it. As all cat caretakers and givers know as well, one does not postpone the feeding of the cats. Rather, one arisies early and gets it done, even if one has the luxury of returning to bed rather than heading off to work. Since I am retired, living on savings and Social Security, there are few if anythings as important on my daily basis as the feeding of the cats. I feel as if I have earned that status. At seventy one, I know all too well that my remaining time on Earth is quite limited, and I want to spend it as meaningfully as possible, which means feeding cats, domestic and stray. Between feedings, I hope to write an essay or two. I notice that I keep writing about climate change, and that the reason I do is that I keep thinking about it; I can't seem to get it off my mind, and I'm not sure I want to. To me, everything else going on in our personal lives and in and on our little blue planet is less imprtant than climate change, which is what happens when you, we, inject a billion tones of carbon into the Earth's atmosphere, at the rate of about fifty to one hundred tones annually. We know that we cannot keep doing this and hope to survive much longer and yet we keep doing it. And since we the human species keeps doing it, I keep writing about it, redundantly. Its getting to the point where I am going to have to force myself to write about anything else, which I must, if I wish to continue attracting readers. I am an vid sports fan, I like music, I like reading; my life is richly rewarding, at least by my standards, before I even get around to thinking about or mentioning climate change. But climate change is the white elephant in the room; here it is and here it remains and shall remain no mater how devotedly we seek to avoid thinking or talking about it in polite company. If I don't stop obsessing with climate change soon I will run out of readers. At seventy on, my reamining time on Earth is quite limited, even though I am told that enyone who is currently alive has a chance to live to be one hundred, owing to advancing medical and health science. Climate change is easy to ignore, since it happens over a period of time, and thus does not bother to insert itself into our self absorbed faces on a daiy basis. Therefore, on a daily basis, we tend to ignore it. We're aware of it, unless you happen to be Donald Trump or a Republican, but that's about as far as our cognition grows. Climate change remains an abstraction, despite its constant daily presence in our lives. Why should we old people even care? It will soon become the problem of another generation. My sister, who is three yers older than I, says that she simply doesn't give a damn what happens on this Earth after she is dead. Why should she? Why should I, or anybody? With our current trajectory, within a few decades the planet Earth will begin to resemble the planet Venus, where "climate change" has long since run amok, leaving it at eight hundred degrees and enveloped by a thick layer of carbon dioxide,through which even the strongest cameras and telescopes cannot penetrate. My answer is that billions of people are being born into this world per decade, essentially, our children. They quite understandably desire to live long, productive happy, healthy lives. School children today are well aware that their prospects for this currently rest on tenuous grounds, because of the stupidity and lack of concern for the future displayed by their immediate ancestors. In a few short years I will be dead, will die grateful for the opportunity I have had to live a full life. Shouldn't I care whether those who come after me have the same opportunity I had, despite my own irresponsible behavior? To me, no other issue or question seems relevant.