september 12, 2001. I have read many beautiful and touching reports today that go beyond description to analysis. I can't do that. I live in rural Canada; I have no global insights on this situation that are worth publishing. So I'll just stick to description. I only have classes 2 days a week this semester. This looks great on paper; in practice it means that I have a particularly heavy Tuesday, with two 3-hour classes between 1:30 and 9 p.m. Yesterday was my first scheduled day of classes. I woke up at 9:15 or so, sleeping until I wanted to get up because I didn't need to be anywhere for a long time. I didn't set the alarm. Our radio is tuned to CBC, more-or-less because it's the only decent radio station we can pick up here. If I'd set my alarm, I would've known. I walked through the morning in a dream, angry at Nic for making irresponsible comments about organized religion on his mailing list. The anger filled most of my head, wrote most of my conscious thoughts. By the time I had packed my massive rucksack of food & gear, all I feel was dread for the inevitable trek back up the hill. I left the house in silence. My mailbox in town was crammed full. Stuffed in between the ubiquitous Zellers flyers was a long-awaited letter from Ontario. After months of not-quite-poverty, OSAP has seen fit to loan me this year's tuition. And since I already paid for this half of the year and bought my textbooks, I'm not only covered for next semester, I'll have money left over at the end of the year. If all goes well, I just might be able to buy a car when the public schools let out next June. This is the second most important thing to happen for me today. As Lileks pointed out so succinctly, Went to Target. Life goes on, even if it's in a state of tremulous fury and worry. Bought . . . frames. Simple items that will forever be tied to this day, these events; it's like a water faucet you installed on the day Kennedy was shot. Every time you turn the tap, somewhere in the back of your head you remember. I scanned some pictures at Loser Support, overhearing the staff talk about planes and attacks. I barely listened, thinking that we'd had another international incident, another military flight overseas that had gotten itself into trouble. I was much more interested in the copy of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? that had been procured for me from the University of Alberta (!!) This is not only too far away for an interlibrary loan to make sense but kind of bizarre, because if U of A hadn't repeatedly lost all of my transcripts, I might be going to teacher's college there instead of here. I spent the next hour holed up in an empty classroom, reading George & Martha aloud to myself and listening to a triphop CD built for us by St. Stephen. It wasn't until I got to 1:30 class that I found out what was going on. That the World Trade Center had been leveled, and the Pentagon attacked. That phone lines were down and the US-Canada border was closed. Just as class began, I suddenly wondered what was happening in Chicago, knowing that I might not be able to call and find out. Needless to say, I was not really able to pay attention to the class syllabus. Groups were formed & assignments discussed in detail all around me while I surfed the BBC site for pictures, wrote Nic an apology & waited for an email from Q. I knew that Pixie's visa had expired this month, so she was likely safe at home, but I had no idea where Q worked or what might explode next. In retrospect, it seems incredibly paranoid to feel so much worry and stress about the safety of my family in Chicago when that city wasn't even under attack. But it's hard to reason with the lizard underbrain, and it was telling me to huddle close to my tribe & my family in this time of danger. When he returned the email, writing that the Sears Tower had been evacuated and they had all been sent home, I felt a gush of relief all out of proportion to the situation. (Today in the Globe & Mail there's a little cartoon of American & Canadian "tall towers," and the Sears Tower is among them, which made me feel a little bit justified.) The Boy was away last night in New Brunswick, and being alone just about drove me crazy. Trying to sleep after 4 hours of news coverage was next impossible: my nerves were cranked up to the screaming point and my grief had heterodyned with older, childish fears of monsters. Just lying in the bed, listening to CBC radio, was torture. Closing my eyes was one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do; I felt like I needed to witness everything and remain alert & conscious just to stay alive myself. Ceilidh clawed at the door all night, upset that I wouldn't let her outside (in the state I was in, I didn't want to unbolt the door in the dark for any reason). It was a horrible, headache-ridden night, and I woke up tired & sore. This morning as I read Kymm's entry about firefighters getting trapped in the collapse, I finally started to cry. Watching the footage of desperate people jumping from the burning towers set me off again. I don't know how much longer I can stand to be alone; I also don't know if I can stand to leave the house today. I need to give blood and I think I need to go to church, but I have no idea if either of things are taking place nearby (o the fun of living in a town of 6000). Scherezade always said that I was sensitive enough for ten people. I guess today's the proof of that. this time 3 years ago: fucking creepy sons of bitches