Twelve years later, I went back to my old journal and found the words I wrote on the day [Note: at the time I was working as a self-employed journalist and just became a certified legal proofreader.]
September 11, 2001
This is the worst I’ve felt since my grandmother died. I don’t even know I’m living.
I’m still waiting to hear from some MIA NYC friends. I’m afraid to go to sleep. My friend Ed took me to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in Upper Montclair. I got all dressed up, hoping to feel a little bit better. We passed the Montclair Art Museum and saw a crowd of people taking pictures of the dark cloud over the NYC skyline.
I’m sick to my stomach.
I received phone calls from people concerned about me since I work so much in NYC, yet I’m the one worrying about everyone else.
I’m confused, wondering if I should continue my career in New York. I don’t think I have the strength to go back for awhile. I can’t just can’t imagine it. Diane was talking about the San Gennaro Feast this weekend, but I can’t see me going there. Ute Lemper, Nick Cave, Jane’s Addiction, Jonathan Richman and all the other shows I planned on seeing during the next few weeks are just fantasies that will give way to dust.
Soooo far away in my little New Jersey town, yet so close. New York City meant so much to me, all of my life. I can direct a stranger to almost anywhere in the city, but a stranger in my hometown will get lost asking me for directions in Little Falls, for I’m never here except to sleep. I’m always in my beloved New York City, working, playing and wandering aimlessly.
A friend made an interesting comment. He said that we think about our lost loved ones and feel sad, but at least they don’t have to deal with this insanity! For once, I can say I am glad my grandmother is not alive.
I pray that everyone is dealing with this the best they could. My heart goes out to all, and to all your loved ones. My friends, my enemies, I wish the best for everyone.
My soul has been ripped out from under me.
I will never be the same again.