Everytime I decide it’s time to shut up about this and start restoring order to my life, I get shoved back into last Tuesday. I can jabber all day about the weird hunting shows I watched on TNN as a diversion, but the psychic debris of Tuesday clings.

Around the neighborhood, as the enormity of having a neighbor on flight 77 sets in, I find all other thoughts are crowded out by an endless loop in my head saying, “You saw that, you know.” Yeah, I know; but thanks for reminding me.

Now I just turn the TV on in short bursts to make sure we haven’t hauled off and bombed someone just to feel better, to satisfy that bloodlust for revenge that bubbles just beneath the surface. I can’t keep up with the slogans and mottos and logos. I was still following when we were “America Under Attack,” still hanging in for “America: The Day After;” but I looked away sometime during “America Recovers” and the next thing I knew we were alternately “Fighting Back,” “On Alert,” or “Rising.”

This morning on the way to work I dropped off a box of supplies for the rescue workers at the Pentagon.

The empty dumptrucks go in to the site, the full dumptrucks go out of the site. Around and around and around.

And when the psychic debris meets the physical debris, I run out of words.

Relief needed for Pentagon rescue workers
This message was in my in-box this morning:

The Salvation Army has announced they need food donations for the volunteers at the Pentagon.

They are accepting the donations at The Sheraton Suites in Alexandria, 801 S. Asaph Street in old town Alexandria.

They are asking for:
muffins
fruit
water
lunch bags
loaves of bread
luncheon meat