It started last week. The inability to concentrate. The restless sleep needing Tylonol PM to quell. The bubbling anger all the time. Actually it didn't start last week, it just started to flare up. As we near the second anniversary of the murders of September 11, 2001, I feel it more and more.

There was absolutely nothing that I could have done. 400 miles away, with local responsibilities and family to take care of. Too old to enlist and much too lame to fight. Hitchens joins the "Get over it" crowd with his latest column. Won't link to that drivel.

I don't want to get over it. I want to let it out, to feel it, to know how righteous anger feels.

I sometimes feel like an Old Testement prophet, a Jerimiah, raling at the loony left and those who would surrender.

I won't. It's them or me and mine. I choose me and mine. All I can do is write, so write I will.

And EMT, so EMT I will. Stopped to help last night at a call, Eight calls in two weeks, a record for me personally. I'm never that busy, yet now I am.

I'm not going to keep trying this hard so some towelhead can turn it all into dust. It's us or them, and the Carthage solution is the only one.