December 15, 2002
I couldn't make sense of it, couldn't see it even standing in the middle of it. The chaos and destruction of what once had been familiar and home and orderly was absolute. And at some point, at some level, you knew that every damn thing would have to come out. Down to the nubbins. Even the gd nails in the subflooring, you know. In all the rooms. Nothing spared. How could you know what it would feel like to dismantle, to gut your own home? Perhaps like shooting your own dog. You shouldn't, I shouldn't have to know.