I drove 25 miles back home, showered, went back to bed. A splitting headache. 9:30am. The pillow, the blanket, the sheets, my own exhaustion cradling me. Woke up again at 11am from what felt like the longest sleep. Restless. Looked out the window. The leafless trees. The east where morning first rose from purple silence. The clouds dark and foreboding. I remembered a boy growing up in the south, the telltales signs of impending doom – the fast, black clouds racing over the hills. And as the city burned, swaddled in its pain and panic and grief, I remembered all too clearly another tragedy, another city not too far from here, and I became convinced that should we now live, it is only from overcoming the sickness of being all too human.