not quite there

I couldn't even come close to posting yesterday. It was my big teaching day, and though all morning I was consumed with thoughts of September 11, 2001, it didn't even come up in either of my classes. I remember, though, that two years ago the weather was much as it was yesterday--sunny, brilliantly clear, one of those great late summer/early fall days when you're glad to be alive. I spent the morning in the doctor's office, two years ago, trying to get some kinks worked out of my back and side. I exploded at the nurse-practitioner who saw me, yelled at her about how I'd just been seen for this problem, and it wasn't better, and why wasn't she taking me seriously. I was sobbing as I went into Radiology for an MRI. The tech thought I was crying about the planes, about the buildings, but I had only the foggiest idea of what was happening. I was crying for myself, for my own damn pain.

I came home and sat pretty much glued to the television, like everyone else I know. But what I really remember is the morning, and how unhinged I was by my own pain, and how that just seemed to blend in with what was going on in the world.