I admit I do.
That sound we've heard again and again - the sound of two bombs exploding in the middle of a city. Tearing into people who had just come to see a race. You want to punish whoever did it with the kind of punishment that none of us would be sufficiently ruthless to carry out.
But you can't let yourself think like that, because it would be unworthy of the many courageous people who ran to help, who took charge; the medics who came that day expecting sprained ankles but knew exactly what to do when it suddenly became just like the war they'd served in, "For me, it was just like going back to Iraq in 2006, 2007," said one medic.
So many ready to help, and provide comfort. They didn't get angry; they got to work.
You can't get angry, because you don't want to have anything in common with the killer - who had to have a deeply intense anger to spend all those hours planning and assembling something he knew would blow people apart, and then, apparently, walked among the people he hoped to kill.
"We know, and this is apparently what surveillance video is (checking out,) these devices were brought in after, considerably after the start of the race," explained a news reporter.
You can't get angry. If for no other reason than because the anger level in the world is high enough as it is. On Monday just in Iraq - 17 bombs went off in seven cities. And the people there ask them same questions we ask here:
"What have these people done to deserve this? Don't their lives mean anything? A man who is waking up in the morning to go to work - what has he done?"