Heavy thoughts.

I had a few accomplishments to note...

The kettle screams.

I hijacked The Roommate for a few hours this evening to attend with me The Devil Came on Horseback. What can one do with images like that, haunting ones?

She habitually turns on CNN in the mornings and following the routine I gape at the news. I bitch about the sensationalism in the theme music and request a xanax to combat the anxiety it spawns. I ask, following each depressing story, "What's wrong with the world?!," until she turns the channel or shuts it off all together. It seems fitting then, that following Brian Steidle's account of the methodical execution of hundreds of thousands I'm back to the question of HOW THIS HAPPENS.

Genocide is an unfathomable phenomenon to me...ashy remnants of their bodies...shackled wrists of little girls, wrists alone in a heap of soot...heads without faces, faces without eyes, without ears...corpse after corpse with hidden faces in the dirt. The ones who live might as well be dead. Their eyes are lost and vacant. They have nothing. NOTHING. And I log in to punch the keys in order to share with you my B-paper, the distance I pushed myself to run, my disdain for numbers.

Both my gains and plight seem so very small.