Minneapolis bridge is falling down...

I should continue my recounting of the end of the LISPA year at some point, but now doesn't seem the appropriate moment to do it. I was awoken last night at 1am by my little brother calling from New Jersey, telling me that a 1,000ft strip of I-35W had collapsed into the Mississippi river, not half a mile from our house in Minneapolis. He hadn't been able to get ahold of Mom or Dad, and was panicked. I told him they were ok, that I was sure they were ok, and we got off the phone. As I drifted back off to sleep, I remember thinking that this felt ever so vaguely like the end of days.

Mom called at 3am. She and Dad are fine. I'm still waiting to hear from everyone else I know in the Cities, but I feel a strange, calm, certainty that everyone's alright. It could just be shock. It's certainly not real to me that the entire 35W bridge is gone - I don't think it will be until I go home for Christmas and see for myself.

About the "end of days" comment - I know it sounds strange, or melodramatic. One should also take it in context that it was thought through the fog of sleep. But I have to admit that this bridge collapsing seems like another in a series of events as late that are varying shades of disastrous, surreal. Justin committing suicide. Brian being in a coma (though now I discover that he's awake! and getting better all the time). Sisters of friends dying, high school friends of friends dying, all of them in their twenties, all of these things in the past three months. I don't know that there's a conclusion to draw from all of this; in fact, I'm compelled to say there isn't. But it is strange, and it gives me a vague feeling of misgiving, and of sorrow.

These are the times that you want to be nearest to those you love.

But in a way, being further away makes all of this easier.