Last night when the CSO was reading up on the logistics of disaster, every time he’d walk into the room with more fascinating information, I wanted to be like the piano player in an old western and dive behind the furniture.
Yet today at work as CK goes on about some junk about her roommates, her discussion of stupid stuff feels abrasive as well?
A city where I used to live is in ruin and every time I think about it I want somebody to declare a “National Day of Brooding” so we can all ponder in silence.
Yet ironically, it is only when I distract myself from brooding for awhile that I write about it and really start to deal myself, and after the CSO tells me how the Bush administration is at fault for some things but busing people out wasn't as practical as it sounds (the only real way to get the people out would have been loading them on to cattle cars and one can imagine Jesse Jackson's reaction to that...), I can talk to the CSO about housing somebody or do anything else that resembles dealing and trying to do what I can to actually help people out.
It would feel good to me, but it isn't the way to go at all.