Called in sick to work today. I couldn�t have gotten a damn thing done anyhow.

Last night I went to Picante for dinner and John McEntire was there. I took it as a good sign.

I was wrong.

I went to Aden's and watched the returns with a large group of people. We drank, but it was not a celebratory kind of drinking. It was more like, maybe if we put enough beer and wine and whiskey in ourselves, everything will turn out okay.

We were wrong.

The hardest part was today when I left the house to go to Flash Taco and get lunch. It was a sunny, beautiful day, which just made things stranger. It was painful to see other people on the sidewalk, pass them in silence, and look at them without smiling, because I knew they were feeling the same way I was.

When something bad happens in our personal lives, it sucks, but we at least feel like maybe we have some control over it, like we can start taking steps to make things better. But this�this is an altogether different breed of shittiness. It's larger than you or me, and there's nothing we can do about it. It's similar to the way I felt after 9/11, or after my father died. It's an overwhelming, pervasive kind of helplessness that cuts through everything.

We were right, but it didn't matter.

And now we're going to suffer for it.

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