I’m downloading some news and video tonight, trying not to cry again about the environmental disaster in our beautiful Gulf of Mexico. Through the window I can see the BP station half a block away from where I’m sitting. (I filled up the gas tank on Wednesday; I knew prices were about to rise. And they did. That afternoon it began: Chevron first, followed by Shell, then Conoco. Today BP joined them but didn’t raise prices as much. I wonder if they were too ashamed. Raceway’s prices haven’t moved.) So even though there is no TV where I am, the horror impresses itself upon my mind every time I look up and out the window. I’d move if I didn’t need the outlet on the wall here. My Lord, the people, the wildlife, the land. O, my Lord!

Is it slightly insane of me to want to drive down to the coast, jump out of my car, and yell at all the animals to get all their babies together and high-tail it out of there? They have babies now, you know. It’s spring. Trees and flowers are blooming. Water and breezes are warm, air heavy with humidity. And pollen. Life is bursting forth throughout the South. Bursting forth at the Gulf only to face hundreds of thousands of gallons of black, slick, life-choking oil that will cover the area for decades to come.

Why don’t builders of oil rigs build redundancy into their systems the way computer network builders do? If one shut off fails, then another will kick in and disaster of epic proportions is avoided. Did BP not think of this? Did they want to save money?

Lord, have mercy. I’m going to cry again.