September 11, 2005
I should write some kind of mememorial post about 9/11, but plenty of other people are doing that, probably a lot better than I can. I'll just link to this.
On 9/11/01, I was sitting on my mama's back porch and drinking a cup of coffee. I had just gotten out of Willingway Hospital the day before and my life was in ruins. The phone rang. It was my grandmother telling me to tune in to the news on television. Something terrible was happening.
I watched as the second plane flew into one of the towers. I watched as the towers collapsed, one after the other. I imagined that the death toll would be horriffic, a LOT worse than it turned out to be, but a part of me couldn't help thinking that I was looking at something that reminded me of me.
Stand tall and strong one day, then have somebody launch a sneak attack on you and bring you down to rubble. Seeing those buildings fall was symbolic of how I felt at the time.
I know that's a selfish, self-pitying notion, but I never will forget it. That's the reason I don't like talking about 9/11.
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