I wasn't listening to the warnings either. Not really paying attention, even though I knew, kind of, what would happen if Katrina actually hit New Orleans.

A year ago, one of the many big storms was headed, for a brief period, toward Cajun land. The weather forecasters and newspeople talked about the geological oddity that is New Orleans. It rests below sea level. Water is continually pumped and kept out of the area by a system of levees. If a hurricane were to hit the city directly, it would fill up like a bowl of cereal. The levees would keep the water in, just as they had kept the water out in regular weather. And if a levee broke--well, we all know the song, right?

When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.

Katrina hit the Big Easy straight on. Hard, like a longshoreman on leave and cruising Bourbon Street. Wet, like--well, you get the idea.

On Monday, I was home sick. I'd been hit bad by allergies--at least that's what I thought at first. And then it kept getting worse. Tuesday, I woke up with a sore throat and numerous aches and pains. I went into work anyway. On Wednesday the fever hit, and I deliriously tried my best to do my work and not bother anyone. Short staffed at work, for various reasons, I couldn't take off work all week to ride out the cold or whatever it was. It was that day when I first noticed the desperation. The wild-eyed panic of co-workers. Something was horribly wrong--and a few of them had decided it was my fault. And even though it wasn't, I must have been the easiest target.

On Tuesday, when I was reading the stories of desolation and desperation on the Gulf Coast, I actually thought one thing: if the Prez can't boost his approval rating from guiding the country through this disaster, then I'd eat my hat. Metaphorically, of course. And then I went on with my day.

The S.O.S. from the mayor of New Orleans gave me pause. Wasn't everyone aware of the situation? Weren't the troops marshaled and in place? Wasn't fresh water and food going to the people who needed it? I mean, everyone can't be so sick and out of it like me, right? I wasn't supposed to ring the bell, was I? Had it been my fault all along?

It wasn't until Thursday when I started getting e-mails. Bulletins on MySpace. Calls from friends and people I didn't know to help out the afflicted.

Day four and we were finally waking up to the fact that millions of our fellow countrymen were in dire straits.

Do we all live so detached from reality that we couldn't see this? Were we all waiting for the call to duty? Who was watching the lighthouse? Who was keeping the flame lit?

Blame has come from all sides and everywhere else. Some say the people who stayed in New Orleans were warned--and that was enough. Of course, this line of thinking has pretty much disappeared by now. The people who didn't leave, for the most part, had no means to get out of town. They didn't have cars. They didn't have money. They scrape and scrap to have food and rent money week to week, month to month. These are the people we forget about everyday when we get all wrapped up in our personal dramas. These are the people we can't fathom living a good life--even if, on a more consistent basis, they try much harder to be happy with what they've got than we do.

And so, even if there were warnings, there was no preparation by a country standing on the top of the nation-state mountain. It was, in effect, the perfect demonstration of what our government does on a regular basis: all bluster and wind with no follow through.

So we're standing naked now. Everyone sees the United States as the proud Emperor unknowingly exposing its humanhood to the world. And, damn, is that thing small.

At work, I apologized first. All the accusations of sandbagging, about being uncaring and unhelpful--I took it all. Ate it up like humble pie. And then, well, I did get a little pissed--especially as I started to feel better. But I dug my heels in and got it all done. Even as the dogs kept biting at those same heels, I stood my ground and kept digging.

That's what we've all got to do now. We fucked up. This whole damn country fell asleep on the watch. Apologies don't mean a damn thing right now. We all need to be ditch diggers. We all need to do what we can. However it is we can do it.

We're all in this together. We are family. And if we can't learn how to swim, we will surely all sink together.

Matt Worley encourages everyone to do what they can to help our brothers and sisters in need. By any means necessary.