The fact is that I'm pretty down, and I guess it's just because three hundred fellow rescuers died not so long ago, doing their job. It still really gets to me sometimes. And now scores of people die on the other side of the world, blown to scraps by missiles that have my nation's flag on their nose cones.

We were sitting around the table with a bunch of friends a little while ago and Barbara asked how we were each dealing with anxiety about another major attack. I think she has nursed ideas of bagging out on the city entirely and finding someplace so boring that no one would consider it target-worthy. And there... sit and wait to see if it was worth it.

Some people said they aren't nearly as worried as that, although they cheerfully admitted they might be in denial. Some attempt to calculate the odds of perishing and establish with math their continued existence. Sara from next door said she thought it was important to be involved with a community, to feel other people around you for the strength they can give.

I said that sometimes you just have to pretend to be braver than you really are. Eventually your emotions will catch up to where your body is. In the meantime, pretend you're not afraid and do what a fearless person does. When bad things scare the shit out of me on the rescue squad, I find that pretending to be brave really works wonders.

"But you have a job to do," Barbara said.

"So do you," I said. "Trying to live a decent life." What a made-for-television thing to say.