Out of Sight ...
Sitting down to write in my journal this morning, I looked at my watch to jot down the date and it said 9:11. "Surely it's later than that," I thought, "I went running at half-8 and that was more than an hour ago."
Then I realized the time wasn't 9:11 ... it was the date.
That date.
I felt like an idiot for not realizing. And there I was, in my mind, back on my balcony on West 23rd street, watching the smoke and Towers as they fell.
Weird how it just crept up on me, and then smacked me in the head. I'm sure that if I were still in NYC, there would be all kinds of media attention to the anniversary. But I haven't seen much here ... all media's been on New Orleans, and we're still dealing with the attacks in my new backyard.
Even watching the 9/11 episode of The West Wing last night, I didn't think so much about the attacks in NY, but the timelessness of the episode, and how it should have been required viewing after July 7 here in London.
Never forget. Wasn't that one of the mantras plastered over the memorials and cards that made up a giant quilt of grief, anger and despair?
And f*ck me, look what I just did.