"Sunny days seem to hurt the most."--Kenny Chesney, "Who You'd Be Today"
We've given up on working today, pretty much. Everyone went to the memorial service in the park. Many of my officemates are still there. I went to give my work husband and one of my other friends moral support; they had to leave, and so did I. We couldn't spend a second longer in that grief marinade. There was a teenage girl with a small boy who was clearly born right before or right after 9/11. That was when I cried. My brother and I are seven years apart; he was born a month before my father died.
I'm glad it's rainy today. Rain's good. If it was sunny again, I believe everyone would have just lost it.
I want Osama to keep talking so we can get him. NOW. L'Ailee is currently beating the hell out of one of her sparring partners, I think. She says she's "sick of crying, and I can't have any more of that." I'd want to send my wife over there after him, except of course intellectually I know better.
NewYorkSurf.com says we've got rideable waves today and tomorrow. I think I'm going to schedule a sickness, get Kanye's new CD, and just go. Everyone else is "sick", or sick, for some reason or another. I need water therapy.