Jeri read me right. I am going to blog about my experience yesterday. OUR experience, yesterday.

At about 2pm, I stepped out on my porch for a reason I since cannot remember. Suddenly, there was shouting and rapid-fire gunshots three houses down from mine. One car pulled into the driveway of that house and another drove away. I've heard many gunshots in my lifetime. Until yesterday, I had never heard the "whizz" of a bullet as it passed by me in close proximity. Jennifer believes there were eight shots. If that is true, at least four or five of them went nowhere near their presumed target. I ran back inside and called 911. The dispatcher let it slip that someone had already called and that there had been injuries. I assumed the injured were involved. I couldn't have been more wrong. In fact, it's highly likely all of the people involved got away unscathed. I made my call and ran back outside, against the dispatcher's instructions. My 70 something year old neighbor was in her yard holding her chest with blood oozing around her hand. She said, "I've been hit. I've called Mr. ##### and he is on his way from ####." At that time the ambulance arrived and put her inside. Before leaving, the paramedics told her children who had arrived by then that the wound was superficial and that they were taking her to the hospital as a precaution. I thank God they did. The bullet was still in her, lodged an eighth of an inch from her heart, so close the doctor doesn't want to remove it at this time.

The street was taped off. Her house was taped off. CSI, fire truck, police vehicles, K-9 unit, news helicopter and ambulance choked the street. Angry children and grandchildren of the accidental victim arrived shouting threats and weeping openly. A bullet hit my neighbor's garage, five houses away from the scene. A bullet entered my garage. A bullet hit my neighbor who was on her porch as was I on mine. A bullet was found in her garage and several more were discovered close by. My friend, my neighbor is still in the hospital and I plan to go see her today.

I called Jeri and some other people so they wouldn't worry about us.

I'm angry that someone could be so careless and nonchalant about human life. I'm angry that my street is owned mostly by investment companies who do not really care what kind of tenants they have as long as the rent is coming in. I'm angry that a few degrees' difference in trajectory and angle could have ended my neighbor's life, or mine, or that of my wife or girls. I'm angry that I cannot remember the color, size, make or model of the vehicles that I saw with my own eyes when the incident took place.

I'm sure it doesn't qualify as bona fide PTSD, but I cannot seem to concentrate on anything without thoughts of that event intruding upon my mind. I find myself scrutinizing every vehicle that passes through our cul de sac. Sleep was difficult last night. (We stayed at my mom's.) And I'm angry and afraid and feel vulnerable and exposed in a way I've never felt before.

I've broken my self-imposed rule of trying to not use the word "I" so prolifically in my posts today. Today, it IS all about me and mine. My life, my family, my neighbors, my home. More later.