The rage builds in me at times like this in part because there is little I can do. I watch the news. I read twitter. I write a little. Images of destruction keep flooding my senses. This one, By John Tlumacki, speaks to me (link).
I am home sick today. I decided to take a noon-time nap when I noticed Twitter light up. I've been following the story ever since. My heart goes out to the victims, and my respect to the brave men and women who ran straight into the death and destruction. I've seen the video. These people react in a way that I am not wired to do.
Network news is frustrating to watch. Experts give meaningless opinions about every aspect of the event, while each channel competes to break the story first. I can't tell you how many times I heard them dance around the word bomb, while at the same time speculating on the location of other questionable packages. Or, they say three people have died, not wait, that is two people. No wait, a bunch of people had legs blown off and somebody may have died. Perhaps there was shrapnel… who do we have who can talk about shrapnel. Geez. It gives me a headache.
As I watch twitter using the #BostonMarathon hash tag. Two out of every three posts seem to say some version of, "Prayers going to Boston." All I can say is that I care, and if i could help I would. For now, I watch the developing story and hope that the terror is over.