1,2,3 what are we fighting for?
I honestly don’t know what to do with myself these days. my normal morning routine is: wake up, pad into kitchen, make eggs and toast, brew coffee, chug orange juice, light cigarette, turn on television, watch the today show.
not this past week. this past week i do all those things, i desperately do all those things, and i think to myself [heartpounding, headpleading] maybe today will be different. maybe today, matt lauer will have returned from qatar, maybe al roker won’t report the weather in iraq, maybe david bloom won’t be wearing sand goggles.
let me explain. i wasn’t entirely against this war. sure, i wanted global support… sure, i wanted more than just great britain behind us, since they’re permanently wedged up america’s ass anyway. but deep down, in a place i rarely talked about at parties, i knew something had to give in the middle east, and i thought, sure – good a place as any to start.
but this isn’t about what i did, or didn’t, think about the war. this is like … this is like … you tell your 10 year old daughter she can try some makeup on, and she comes out looking like a washed up 2-bit bourbon street hooker. this is like, you drop a seed on the ground, turn around, and there’s a giant tree. there i was, two weeks ago, looking at the word “war” and thinking, hey, why not? thomas friedman isn’t vehemently against the war, and i consider him my barometer of foreign coolheadedness.
but we’re not far enough into this that i can start looking towards the reconstruction, but it’s already started and i can’t look away.
so instead, i eat my soggy toast every morning and cry when i see family members talk about their missing sons and daughters and think, what’s going on?