The news out of Boston that reached me this morning was horrible, but I was dismayed to realize that I wasn't as surprised as I wanted to be.

People had murmured about how the debris and the water might only serve as the first act, as it were. I'd worried that something else would act as Act Two - although I wasn't really expecting a concrete slab - or three.

I don't live in Boston. I can't imagine what Milena Delvalle's family is going through, although I was among the countless others who thought of them today. I don't have first-hand knowledge of how hellish the Tuesday commute was (but believe me when I say that I certainly heard about it). But I drive there regularly enough to know how exasperating it is to have to detour to Congress Street at 1 a.m. because 93S is closed; I've sat in the tunnels in bumper-to-bumper Friday afternoon traffic, and I've checked to see if those water droplets falling onto my windshield are routine or something else.

Driving Storrow Drive is a nightmare, we all know. Weaving through the tunnels shortly before turning onto the roadway? That's supposed to provide the last few moments of relative peace, not a nightmare onto itself.

Updates.

Short sentences from a short temper. But at least it's information.

- I highly recommend checking out Intercept. California band. I like what I hear. Formerly known as Flathead, a band I've been hearing about for eons but hadn't had a chance to actually hear.

- Portions of five Averi songs were featured in the latest "Red Sox Rewind." Talk about a surprise, hearing almost half of "Drawn to Revolving Doors" while catching up on Sox news ("When You Gracefully Creep In," "Attention to Details," "Mouth Full of Sand," "Empty Pages" and "The Way We Go Out Tonight" were played). But I got to watch clips from Millar's two-homer effort (read: the one game I actually missed this season, dammit) and smile again at Sox wins while humming along with the songs. NESN managed to take two things I dig and bring 'em right together. Worked for me.

- The question posed to me numerous times today: "Catch the game last night?" Answer: "Of course I did. I'm surprised you didn't hear me cheering as soon as Ortiz made contact."

- I haven't been able to get "Stitched Up" out of my head the last two days.

- Finally saw the clip of Kanye West's anti-Bush rant. I applaud him for speaking from the heart - it was clear that he wasn't just trying to look cool with it; he was shaken and flying by the seat of his pants. Made Mike Myers look rather foolish and cold when he tried to stick to the script.

- I made banana bread last night. And yes, it is edible, thank you. Very tasty, actually. And I, er, THEY said I couldn't do anything but microwave. HA!

(Admittedly, I did have Beth in stitches as I brought my own special sense of style to it. A comedy of near-errors.)

- I'm just trying to get to Friday.

I'm a bit delayed, but well-intentioned.

I started and stopped posts about Katrina and its aftermath, but everything I wrote seemed terribly cliched. It's easy to write about the horrific devastation and how I hurt for those affected when I'm sitting in northern lands free of floodwater, with all of my friends and loved ones accounted for.

In fact, I'm not even aware of anyone I know having been remotely within harm's way.

So I haven't written, haven't commented beyond the "I'm in a funk because everything in the world looks like it's gone to shit" post from last week.

That said, I've been following the news. I've been figuring out how I am going to help, and I encourage you to do the same.

I've been amazed (albeit at the same time not surprised) to see how Americans have rallied to help those hit hardest. My one hope is that people remember that it's going to be difficult for people a week from now. A month from now. A year from now.

Let's help victims now and continue to help them as they begin the process of recovery.

American Red Cross
America's Second Harvest
North Shore Animal League
Oxfam America
Salvation Army

It's hot and humid, with condensation sticking to the windows, lampposts and awnings. A visible haze hanging over everything.

Much like the thundercloud hanging over my head. I'm glowering. Grumpy. Ready to explode.

The reports that dominate screentime on the televisions here are alternately horrific and devastating. There are the reports of more than a thousand people killed while trying to flee a supposed suicide bomber. There's the water in the South, with looters preying upon the desertion of a city and increasing devastation.

You're acutely aware of what's going on, of course, but after being innundated with the images, it's a natural reflex to want to curl up and focus on what's happening close to home. There's too much happening outside, too much sadness and intensity.

So you do curl up, retreating into the imagined bubble that is supposed to protect you from harm. And you take a look at what's going on in your life, and you realize that maybe you should focus again on what's happening to others.

Things in your life are painful when they shoudn't be, dormant when they shouldn't be, obnoxious when they shouldn't be. You feel as if you're in a funk that shouldn't exist. But things have gotten to you. And that makes all the difference.

I cried myself to sleep last night for the first time in recent memory. Shortly after I turned off my lamp, a number of things finally managed to get through the thick skin I've been trying to develop. They struck me right at the nerves and I just broke down. I sobbed until my sides hurt and until I started to lose my breath. One side of my spare pillow was damp when I finally loosened my grip on it.

I forced my breathing to become steady again and then closed my eyes. I'd worn myself out from the crying and fell asleep easily.

But then I awoke and turned on the news. And realized that there would be little to force me out of the doldrums today. It looked like the cloud was going to remain over my head.

And then I stepped outside into the haze.