It’s day 3. When it comes to processing, sometimes it takes a while. I think the closer to home it is, the slower it goes.
To put it another way: maybe it’s a bit too twisted that I’m reading the insanity playing out in Iraq in an effort to not read the no-news from back home.
I don’t want to go to bed a third time not knowing what comes next, but I don’t want to be awake to experience the pounding in my chest.
In another weird twist, I’m listening to my dad’s radio show in the background in order to establish some level of normalcy. Father’s day, I guess.
A friend mentioned she’s surprised I hadn’t offered my thoughts. I guess I was blocking them. Soldiers… are close enough to home. Soldiers are barely not-teenagers.
Teenagers… well, teenagers are barely not-kids. So this is now a whole new level of sick.
And that’s what I feel at the moment… sick.
That’s all I got.