Sunday night

Last time, I was proud, knowing the extraordinary cost. I hated the individual who had died, though I have nothing to show that this individual ever wronged me. I resented those who condemned my hatred; and so I lashed out by celebrating brazenly, aiming to offend most those who had spoken the loudest. Maybe I felt a need to justify the cost, knowing that the recently deceased would be soon replaced. Maybe I felt at some level that I was powerless to do anything else.

The killing this time was, I suspect, much more justifiable than last time. Still, why the chanting? Why the vuvuzelas?

Pride, hatred, resentment, and futility?

There ought to be a better way to recognize the efforts of our government and military... or at least, one that doesn't leave me with such a bitter taste.