Celebrating Death

After reflecting on the events of last night I have come to a personal moral conclusion with how I feel about the death of Osama bin Laden. I had mixed feelings about my fellow Americans celebrating in the streets of D.C. and Ground Zero. Were these people celebrating the death of a person or the end of terror and tyranny by that person? If it was the latter then I was grateful to see rejoicing! Every man, woman and child should rejoice when evil is stopped and justice is served, but if these people were celebrating the killing of a man I'm saddened and ashamed. Do we have the right as an individual or as a nation to celebrate the death of anyone?
I believe everyone who watched or read about the announcement  thought back to 9-11 and where they were that day. I can almost remember every detail of that morning. I also remember in the days after the attacks seeing footage of some people and terror groups in middle eastern nations celebrating in the streets about the death that had just been brought to our shores. Many were glad to see the United States was no longer untouchable and that the "sleeping giant" would bleed when pricked. This begs the question: Are we not the same as our enemy when we celebrate the death of another human being, no matter who this person was?
So celebrate the end of evil, tyranny, terror, or even our brave men and women who carry out these brave missions but never celebrate the death of a person.
And that's how I feel...I think.

my feet hurt...

My feet are killing me. You would think with all the advancements in science over the last 100 years they would be able to make a cheap pair of shoes that don't make you want to jump off a bridge.

Coincidentally, if I were to jump off a bridge to end my life I think I would remove my shoes first. That way I can feel the wind between my toes as I plummet to my demise.

Now don't get worried because I don't think I would ever kill myself. I'm the type of person that believes it will always work out (and so far it has). That is except for these shoes.

Dreams

I generally don't dream.When I do I only remember bits and pieces. Here's one I recently had.
(Entering Dream Sequence ZZZzzz...)

The setting was that of a run down neighborhood. It was well into the evening hours and the sun had set some time ago. In front of one of the shabby looking houses a car pulls up. I am an adolescent kid in the passenger seat. For some reason I know in the dream that this is not me but I'm in the body of someone else. I'm experiencing what he is feeling, controlling his movements, and hearing his thoughts. I don't know who's driving but I do know that the place we are arriving at is going to be home.

As the car pulled up to the curb a stop a gun shot slices through the quiet dark neighborhood. The bullet strikes me in the head just above the right eye and comes out the back of my head. (Keep in mind that this is a dream.)
 I don't remember feeling anything but the fear of just being shot. I could feel with my finger where the bullet went in and where it had exited.

After this I remember running. The car and the house were long behind me. I was hopping fences and cutting through backyards. I think I was looking for help or maybe a hospital but I can't be sure now. At this point in the dream I remember feeling as if the worst thing in world had happened. I felt as though I had given it all.  The feeling in my stomach told me that I was going to die but that I had to fight to stay alive. I had to give more than I ever thought I could.

Then my wife's alarm clock went off.