It feels like September 11th, this oil spill, in that I am powerless to do anything, and powerless to stop thinking about it. At least when the buildings were still smoldering, we all knew it, we all saw it, we all smelled it in the air. We looked at each other on the street, and we knew that this was the end of something we didn't know we had until it was gone.
I'm still wearing braces on my hands, will be for the next two weeks, typing this now with the assistance of a friend. These meat hooks, a metaphor for everything I can't do. The mind races, the heart aches, but the hands are tied.