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I had managed to put it out of my head
Sep. 11th, 2006 10:36 amJust like Cleo the dog who knows exactly when 6pm rolls around and it's time to *jump* *jump* *jump* in preparation for dinner, without my paying much attention to what the date is (I'm that guy who aways asks "what day is it?" when writing a check) my brain dredges up memories and queues up imagery for nightmares and kicks in the edge-of-tears overlay and turns up the sensitivity to loud unexpected noises.
"What the fuck is wrong with me today" is a good indication that it's 9/11.
As it was that day, it's a gorgeous clear day with a soft coolness that is unique to this time of year. The sky is clear blue, perfect for a backdrop of bright orange flames, torn glittering metal, billowing smoke - blown east by the gentle, consistent breeze - and white paper quietly drifting down, so small because it's so high up that it makes you dizzy just thinking about it. That's the first set of memories/images. Followed by an almost cinematic ZOOM IN on the horrific details of what's going in with people high up and then people in the air and then people on the ground, all over the ground. Those are the ones I have to try to push away. Then another shift to explosions and panic and stuff raining down and what was going to hit me next and RUN RUN RUN.
But then there's also finally getting home that night and Ernie and feeling for the first time that day safe. That's the one that - along with the dogs - I'm trying to hold as close as possible.
I guess I should be thankful that it's not worse, and that it's only this one day. I'm also surprised that that one day doesn't seem to diminish much in intensity.
Time to find the dogs.
"What the fuck is wrong with me today" is a good indication that it's 9/11.
As it was that day, it's a gorgeous clear day with a soft coolness that is unique to this time of year. The sky is clear blue, perfect for a backdrop of bright orange flames, torn glittering metal, billowing smoke - blown east by the gentle, consistent breeze - and white paper quietly drifting down, so small because it's so high up that it makes you dizzy just thinking about it. That's the first set of memories/images. Followed by an almost cinematic ZOOM IN on the horrific details of what's going in with people high up and then people in the air and then people on the ground, all over the ground. Those are the ones I have to try to push away. Then another shift to explosions and panic and stuff raining down and what was going to hit me next and RUN RUN RUN.
But then there's also finally getting home that night and Ernie and feeling for the first time that day safe. That's the one that - along with the dogs - I'm trying to hold as close as possible.
I guess I should be thankful that it's not worse, and that it's only this one day. I'm also surprised that that one day doesn't seem to diminish much in intensity.
Time to find the dogs.
