I can't believe I have to cover this mess.

I'm the news director of a radio station. When the story of the planes and the Twin Towers and the Pentagon and the unspeakable horror broke this morning, I knew I'd be living and breathing this nightmare all day long.

I normally love my job, and I think I did well today, considering all I wanted to do was shut down and go fetal. The beginning of the day was spent educating myself as fast and as best as I could, and the rest of it was spent calling state, local, and federal officials for feedback. I was numb, asking question after question that sounded so trite, I was almost ashamed to ask them. Then again, nothing much on my end feels important anymore.

In between, I ran frantic lists through my head of every person I know who could have possibly been in danger. I've been lucky so far. I'm almost ashamed of my relief.

I turned off the emotional part of me and focused on gathering and releasing information. I didn't have a choice, and for some reason, I feel guilty about it - like I didn't really experience the horror... well, of course, I really didn't. Florida is a long way off of the truly terrible sights. But I think we all were yanked into the center of this.

God, the images - the things that are sticking with me and disturbing me the most aren't the things I saw or heard. They're the things I imagined, during the pauses while I waited for a source to pick up the phone line, and in the seconds between recording the stories and broadcasting.

Terrified kids stuck at school because their parents were killed in the blast, just stranded and waiting and grieving, with no place to go.

The people just walking. The mental image of that mass exodus from downtown, shellshocked men and women marching along, because the didn't know what else to do. The looks on their faces and the thoughts in their heads.

The families clutching tissues and hopes that for some reason maybe (oh god please) their spouse or child or parent didn't actually step onto the plane that just went down.

The hot tears and hotter pain of people stuck inside the rubble - there must still be thousands.

The children overseas cheering for the death and destruction, because in their minds, this will bring them empathy. I don't think it will.

The thousands of people who had to make the toughest decisions of their lives, knowing even as they try to forget the blood and grime tonight, they'll have to wake up and face more sweat and soot and impossible decisions in the morning.

The innocent Americans who are from Arabic descent who will suffer unjustly because of the fury and ignorance of their neighbors.

The medical workers and rescuers who are going to see so little hope and so much sadness over the next couple of days. I don't know how they're putting one foot in front of the other, let alone continuing to do what may very well be an endless, thankless job.

These are the images that have haunted my pauses today. And there isn't much relief in sight - it'll all start over again tomorrow.

When I came home and didn't have to be professional anymore, I wanted a dam to break. I wanted to let it all out, because maybe that would make me feel a little better and less distant and not so close all at the same time.

I couldn't.

I shook and leaked. Then I slept.

Today drained me.

And I'm one of the lucky ones.