i still don't want to dwell, but it feels rather ever-present. having not read anybody last night, going through my list this afternoon, it was very apparent whether they wrote before or after nine in the morning, eastern time. i slept in today until about ten, because it's one of the two mornings i can do so as i have a later first class than normal, even that makes me feel guilty.

i hate the day after. and not just because of what happened, in most cases, though the events surely matter, in this case especially. i hate it because shock starts to wear off, and disbelief. and that feeling that it must be a dream disappears. i dreamt a lot of things last night, none very relevant, and for those few moments after i woke up when i hadn't remembered any of the days' events it was very peaceful. and being as far removed from it all as i am, i am not sick, rather, i have this bit of uneasiness in the very middle of my torso. i wish that were all everyone involved, especially those injured or killed, had.

all i've heard, from the government, is cries of promised retaliation and hunting and punishing. i think we've done enough previous to this, and i think this is enough loss of innocent life as a statement for one decade. are we really going to be sated by covering someone else's streets with blood and ash and rubble? can we really look at each other, eye to eye, and say that 'we got the bastards!', just so we can pretend the world is safe? i hoped something of this magnitude would make everyone stop and take note, and maybe realize this sort of karma was inevitable after decades of missiles and bombs. i fear the cycle's continuation.

-

"and the blood
poured off the pulpit
yeah, and the blood
poured down the picket lines