I’m sorry I don’t have anything moving to write about today’s murders. I just don’t. I used to take writing about these events on this blog very seriously, because I knew a lot of people would pop in to see if I were still alive. But writing about a pigua means feeling it, living it, in a much deeper way than otherwise, and I don’t really want to do that.
You get this heavy feeling after a pigua and I don’t want that feeling to linger. There are those whose lives were taken; I hear there were children among them. There were those who survived but whose lives will never be the same. There are the families of both kinds. Life for them now becomes a desperate struggle to cope.
I don’t want to wallow. What I really want to do is go out on my bike. Today I bought a little light for riding at night, in the bike shop on the corner by work. I already have a flickering red light that goes at the back. Today I got a yellow light for the front.
It’s late. The girls are starting school tomorrow. What do I do with all this energy? I don’t want to wallow. And they’re in bed, bags ready, favorite clothes neatly folded, waiting for tomorrow morning.
It’s decided. I’ll go.
Update: Hey R.T., I mended my first flat! You'd have been proud. Your words of wisdom, 'It's just a bike', were a great source of comfort!