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| Cole McGrath is a sophomore English major and writes 'International House of Slaw' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. |
LIMERICK, Ireland -- I told myself I wouldn't do this.
I promised myself that I wouldn't, but now as I sit in this empty college computer lab on a lonely Irish Sunday morning, I can think of nothing else. For the last week, I have been desperately searching my head for anything to write about other than the war.
I wanted a break from it for a few minutes, even a second. Not just for me, but for the readers too.
Something funny would have been good. I haven't laughed until my stomach threatened to split and my face went stiff in far too long.
I haven't been that funny in the past, but I thought I could have given it a try -- an attempt to break the static shock that is hanging in the air.
If I had a joke, I would tell it now.
Or maybe I could've written something awe-inspiring -- something that would cut to the very essence of who we are and make us turn our eyes up into our heads to think about it for a while to decide if we agree or not.
Awe has been hanging out with shock lately though, and I don't think it wants to come out to play with us right now.
Maybe an intelligent piece that would teach all of us something new would have been excellent.
What knowledge do I have to pass on though?
This could have been a little safe house in the newspaper for anyone who didn't want to think about Basra, Baghdad and bombs.
All the beds would offer a good night's sleep and dreams of winning the World Series or dancing with someone special.
The TV would talk only about corrupt corporations and celebrities.
We could've lost ourselves for just a few moments in some incessant ramblings -- some silly subject that has no bearing on the world.
We could've pretended, just for a second or two, that everything was fine. Things could've made sense again for a minute.
But I couldn't do it.
The pictures of bombs in marketplaces, headless Iraqis holding white flags and makeshift torture devices assault my eyes every time I turn on the TV or open a paper.
Even if I could tear myself away from this colossal car wreck that the media is presenting 24/7, I still would not be able to get away.
It is inside me now.
This lump in my throat, this knot in my stomach; they are always there to remind me of what is happening in a land that for the whole of my memory has been associated with two things: war and oil.
When will these feelings go away? Will I ever be able to say "Iraq" without feeling the muscles of my ribcage go rigid?
I'm sorry to say that it won't be today.
I told myself I wouldn't do this. I promised myself that I wouldn't, but I couldn't help myself.
I couldn't help anything.
Write to Cole at cpmcgrath@bsu.edu
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