No Acro

"I hate this day."

That's how I entered work this morning, a half-hour late.

I've said it before, I hate to damn an entire day, but at 9:30 am, I already truly hated this day. I got up too late, rushed around, got dressed, spilled my coffee, had to change clothes, and clean the coffee off my white cabinets before it stained. I went outside to start my frozen and snow-covered car, and took the week's trash out with me to sit by the driveway for pickup. For some unknown reason the garbage men seemed to have run over three hours early today, and the trash had already been picked up. I was wet from the snow that had blown inside my car, as was my trash bag from the driveway, and I slogged it inside and threw it into the laundry room. Then I poured my second cup of coffee, in my second set of clothes, and started to work.

I was on pins and needles, due to some other stuff going on, stuff I'd rather not elaborate upon but which involves family members and medical procedures. I didn't want to be at work. I didn't want to leave my wet trash bag in the laundry room. I wanted my first cup of coffee, which I'd spilled, and my second, which was still in the cup, awaiting my work arrival.

I got to work and got to start that second cup of coffee, which was actually my first cup of coffee, and after a few work tasks, I hit CNN. And screamed, "Holy fuck."

My friend, workmate, and mother figure San started to laugh. See, she'd been out in the hallway, and said my oath rang throughout the entire first floor of the building, surely to the office next door, and possibly the church whose offices are upstairs had heard me. And I explained to her the reason for the shout.

A gunman had shot someone on the campus of Virginia Tech.

One dead, that was the story. A student described it as "mayhem," and said two people, a boy and girl, had jumped out of a window to escape the shots. The boy had broken his ankle.

I kept refreshing CNN. I had early lunch, brunch we call it there at TheCompanyIWorkFor, which was at 11:30. I immediately went home and turned on the TV, only half expecting it to be on the news. But it was. The story had changed to 1 dead, 1 hurt. Then 1 dead, 17 hurt. I watched through the file footage, through the same pictures taken by cell phones shown over and over, then CNN broke to a local affiliate. And it all changed.

20 people dead.

I couldn't help it. I began to cry.

I think it was just the culmination of everything. The morning, the shock, and the fact that I consider B'burg my second home. The home of Hokie football games, and Mr M and Poderosa East. The home of the B'burg Community Band, and my Sauerkraut Band buddies, and Ed, and Kellie (with an ie). And the numbers. From 1 dead to 20. It was hard to take in.

And so 20 became 22, which became 24, which became 31, and by the time I left work (I'd since gone to msnbc.com to watch a live feed), it was 33.

By about 3pm, I'd gotten OK's from most people. People whose kids were on campus, and Mr M emailed me to let me know he and ESP's hubby, a professor, were OK. My sister had heard from Taytie, and all his Tech buddies were OK. A bus of students from Graham High, Taytie's school, had been on campus during the shootings, going to campus to attend an art show. They were caught in the campus lock-down, but were all OK and on their way back home.

And the boy who broke the ankle jumping from a window? He's OK, too, and the son of a family my sister tailgates with at Hokie games.

I got a call at work, picked up the phone, and it was my friend Tina. Tina is English, but lives in Ireland. She saw it on her television news, and was calling to make sure I and mine were OK.

When I got home, I got the OK from Kellie (with an ie). She hadn't left for work when it all began. I got a messenger message from Michelle the Dishy, asking if all mine were OK. And an email from Jellybean, who I hadn't heard from in ages. I have the best friends.

An email from Stennie was awaiting my arrival home, asking if I was OK, and if I was up to podcasting tonight, that it was up to me. I'm not sure at this point. I certainly don't feel funny, and even feel guilty laughing at jokes. Then again, it might help me. If I don't do the podcast I'm liable to sit here alone all night and dwell. Dwell way too much.

And that's mainly why I'm writing tonight. To get it out, and hopefully not dwell so much. But still, there are things I can't stop thinking about.

Like why a first shooting could take place at 7 am, and nothing be done about it for two hours. Two hours for students and employees to live their normal lives, or what was left of them, and go to classes only to end up as sitting ducks at the second shooting.

And the wind. This has been a particularly windy day here, and it caused a downing of medical evacuation helicopters.

And how now the media has descended upon my second home. Katie Couric's in town, interviewing students. The local news girl, who informed us of the drastic jump in the number of fatalities, proudly announced she'd be speaking to Katie on the CBS News. George Bush appeared at the White House to tell us how he was leading a grieving nation, yes, Mr NRA himself, and the news was filled with talking heads talking about how easy it is to buy firearms in Virginia.

None of it matters now, and I'm sick of it already. And I'm still watching. And dwelling.

So maybe I should go ahead and do the podcast. But I'm telling you right now, I still hate this day. This is a day I don't feel guilty about damning.