A total blackout

Today, I feel like a traitor.

For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about blacking out the news. Turning it off. Shutting it down. Stopping its leakage into every nook and cranny of my life.

No daily newspaper. No New York Times website. No NPR. No msnbc.com. Not even People magazine.

See, I’m in a funk. A fog. Again. And this time, I think it might be atmospheric. As in the atmosphere around here is bringing me down.

I’ve spent the better part of a week trying to pinpoint the source of my current malaise. As you already know, I’m prone to these bouts of feeling crappy, but they don’t usually happen so close together. Having just recovered from my usual end-of-the-year bout, I’m really struggling to figure out what this new bout is, well, about.

I cleared most of the usual suspects right away. Not a single one of them is prowling around inside my head looking for trouble. This angst is a new variety that I haven’t felt before. This one rises and falls like barometric pressure. Sometimes it rages. Other times, it simmers.

After some serious thinking, a pattern emerged. The disconnect between how I feel at home in the evening and how I feel during the rest of day is a chasm that opens wider each day. The more I studied it, the clearer it became.

My diagnosis: An acute case of TMI.

The only real difference between day and night — other than my work, which is fulfilling and challenging but not at all stressful — is the amount of news I consume, which during the day is extraordinary and at night is almost non-existent.

All day long I read headlines and stories about war and famine and economic catastrophe and domestic violence and arson and sadness and shame. I weep for the koalas. I get angry at Congress. I grieve for the octuplets. I stew about Vladimir Putin and Mahmoud Amadenijad and Mike Huckabee.

But in the evenings, when I’m not reading about how to organize my pantry or make a great navy bean soup, I’m doing a sudoku, listening to “Peter and the Wolf,” working a jigsaw puzzle or playing Memory and Candy Land.

It’s not really rocket science, is it?

So I’m thinking about turning it all off. Not forever. Just for now. Until the fog lifts and I can once again put the freakin’ koalas in perspective.

I’m sure I’m not the first person on Earth to do this. In fact, I’ll bet there’s some rich author or guru or yogi or something who suggested it in one of his wildly successful bestsellers that I should have read and didn’t. I’ll bet there are zillions of you wondering why I’m just now jumping on the bus.

Before you get all uppity, realize this: For a journalist and news junkie like me, this is tantamount to cutting off a limb. My entire life has been wallpapered with newsprint. My very existence is supported by the news business. And while I’m no longer actively involved in gathering or disseminating it, news still pays my bills.

To even think about blacking it out is damn near blasphemy. But I think might be necessary for my peace of mind. I get so irritated, so sad, so angry, so disillusioned with the news of the world — and, frankly, with the way some of my brothers and sisters cover it — that I can’t separate it from my own life, which, on balance, is pretty wonderful.

So, that’s what I’m thinking. Just a week. Maybe two. Instead of feeding on the bad news of the world, I’ll focus solely on the good news of my life. A husband and daughter I love beyond words. An existence so cozy and sweet it brings tears to my eyes. Friends who complete my soul. Resources enough to do the things I want to do.

I’ll add one disclaimer: If something really big happens (think Sept. 11 kind of big), all bets are off. But barring that — and dear God, please do — no news. At all.

There was a time when I would never have attempted this. But today, with more life and experience behind me, I think it’s important and achievable.

Besides, if I can’t do it, it seems to me, that’s all the more reason to keep trying.