This morning I woke up to the sounds of thunder in the distance. My clock stared a flat red 4:45 am at me. There was an uncomfortable, white gnawing in my stomach. Our air conditioner wasn't working and the fan was blowing semi-cool, humid air. The window was open to increase the draft. I rolled over and shut my dry eyes, but it was too late: I was up.

The thunder rolled closer and a soft tinkling rain began playing on the glass. I got up and sat in the computer room, hoping a change in scenery would be the trick I needed. I always turn off our server when it starts to thunder and lightning. I lost a hard drive once to bad weather. That was a lesson learned.

I eventually crawled back into bed.

"You okay?" Catherine said from the middle of the bed.

"Yeah. Can't sleep."

I lay on my side and thought about how small and helpless things sometime seem in the morning. Then, for some reason, I thought about President Bush and wondered if he felt that way in the mornings when he couldn't sleep; like maybe he just didn't want to get out of bed that morning; like maybe he just wanted to forget about this war; like maybe somehow the world would stop all it's rage and crazy shit and he could just take a few moments and relax and listen to the rain falling against his window, and not face the press today, not face the angry people all over the world who blame him (of all people) for violence, and call him arrogant; to not face this impossible situation. Ah, that would be nice.

It was strange to have empathy for a president who I didn't vote for and who I won't ever vote for in the future. This is an impossible situation we're in and, to me, there's no right or wrong answer and if you're president, you're going to be disliked no matter what you do. I'm just glad there are people out there willing to be in that position, so all the rest of us can praise or criticize or write blogs about things that are irrelevant, or whatever it is we do.

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