Bang, boom, bam. Visions of horror popped this week at higher speed than a mind could process, from the gruesome to the personal. Here are odd thoughts from my odd brain this week:
I’ve never been kicked in the gut, but this must be what it feels like.
Maybe I should get a cell phone.
Do I love or hate anything enough to become a kamikaze pilot?
I’m not glad anymore my work window looks out on a naval pier.
Reports of a New York City police officer standing guard where his brother, a firefighter, died was the straw that broke my emotional back.
Why didn’t I ever buy a porch flag?
It’s a good financial time for East Coast coffin makers, funeral homes and morticians.
Out the door in a fire, under the desk in an earthquake, but the safety pamphlet doesn’t properly cover terrorist attack procedures.
Remind Lisa, my son’s girlfriend, to wear step-running shoes to her job at a Seattle high-rise.
Singing U.S. senators shouldn’t quit their day jobs.
Bless the men who quickly nailed together wooden stretchers in Manhattan.
If I received a phone call from someone trapped in a collapsed building, my soul would crumble from utter helplessness.
I hope my friend, Lucky Pence, gets a flight here from Arkansas to attend a Saturday family wedding.
Such dedicated New York doctors, but so few patients.
Remind my kids where I keep our will.
Taliban? What’s Taliban?
Remember when everyone built bomb shelters and we thought it was overkill?
A play coming to Seattle called "Vagina Monologues" would seem funny if anything seemed funny.
Who does one call to order 6,000 body bags?
Third-graders need to learn how to spell Osama bin Laden.
Jump or burn, jump or burn, eenie, meenie, minie moe.
Will the first made-for-TV movie be a miniseries?
I don’t remember which countries have nuclear bomb capabilities.
Peter Jennings has an amazing grasp of historical nuggets.
Wouldn’t the Pentagon seem to be a safe place to work?
I would trip, sure as shooting, if I had to run down a street in front of blasting smoke and concrete.
Call Aunt Margaret in Michigan.
Thumbs up to the garbage truck driver I passed on I-5 with "God Bless America" scrawled in dust on the back of his rig.
What did air traffic controllers do when all those planes changed course?
Keep nice pictures of relatives on hand to show while searching hospital wards or to print in obituaries.
Folks in New York and Washington, D.C., please help all the dogs and kitties whose humans never got home.
Identify my body by the tattoo on my wrist.
I hope the Seahawks refund my ticket money for the canceled Sunday game.
Reality jolt — the guard in fatigues at the main gate at Naval Station Everett carries a rifle.
Long husband hugs don’t bring comfort.
Thursday morning, waking to sunshine, I thought it would be great day — then remembered it might never be a great day.
Kristi O’Harran’s column appears Tuesdays and Fridays. If you have an idea for her, call 425-339-3451 or send information to oharran@heraldnet.com.
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