Do I wake or sleep?

I have been sick with worry all day. The most recent shooting in the DC area was five minutes away from my house. Mom had stopped at that shopping center just three hours before the shooting. I used to work at 7 Corners. I feel like throwing up.

I couldn't sleep last night; I woke up at least three times. (Of course, one of those times was because a large purring kitten was wedged up against my ear--it's difficult to sleep through that.) I think Tatia knew I was upset; she stayed very close to me last night. So I slept through the alarm this morning, and got to work late. I've been stressing all day--I saw a picture in the Post or the Daily News of the woman's body, half-covered with a sheet, lying on the ground. That woman died next to her husband. One minute they're unloading stuff into the trunk of their red convertible; the next, she's crumpled and bloody on the ground, and he's bending over her, and looking around frantically. I can't grasp it--how he must feel. There's something so awful, so horrifying about the sight of a murdered body. It seems so mutilated, so personal. I feel such hatred for this creature, this loser who decided to force everyone to fulfill his emptiness, to inflict his pathetic issues on everyone else. No one cares about your inner life. No one cares about if you were abused as a child. No one wants to film your pathetic life. Just kill yourself and make everyone happy. And then rot in an unmarked, unmourned grave like Lee Harvey Oswald.

God. Just awful, awful.