Friday, September 21, 2001
So, what do I think of Bush's speech? I think he's a much better actor than I originally thought. That is, of course, rather important, second only to the importance of surrounding yourself with good people (read: Condoleeza Rice, Colin Powell, etc.). Initially, I expressed amazement that he seemed to have grown balls in the last week. But upon further reflection, I just realized he still sounds like a dolt when he's talking off the cuff. It's much easier to read anger you already feel into passionate words someone's prepared for you in front of a pissing, frothing mad audience. Well, as long as they're not mad at you, of course!
Anyway, meat and potatoes of my opinion: We're going to war. Duh. I appreciate not pussy-footing around the issue, but it still jolted something at the core of my shredded sense of security and liberty to hear him say quite literally "We're going to obliterate you." Of course, "we" directly or indirectly includes "me" - that's the crappy-ass part.
Needless to say, the evening post-Bushisms contained large quantities of Michelob Amber Bock, too many cigarettes, and tearful explanation of why I'm so scared. Now you know why I quit smoking! Ha!
Quit smoking today. That ought to be fun. I feel this overwhelming need to assume control for something in my life (some freak psychological reaction to the Current Situation, I suppose), and it meant quitting either smoking or eating. I figured quitting smoking was the healthier option.
Thursday, September 20, 2001
Interesting that they posted this on the CNN site moments after my blog entry. Unrelated, but ironic nonetheless.
I SO have to comment on this! (Scroll to the bottom, last item on right) I'd heard about this, but couldn't find verification. One of the suspicious elements about it - which this tidbit doesn't even mention - is the timing. They broadcast these images, if I remember correctly, mid-afternoon on Tuesday 9/11. It was evening in Palestine when the WTC towers were hit. By mid-afternoon, it was early morning there, and they were attributing the images to much earlier in our day. In other words, it was night-time when these images were allegedly captured. Can you say "Giant load of sh-t?"
How many nightmares can a person have in one night? I'm completely serious, and if you have an answer, please let me know. Because I remember two from last night, very different from each other, and I know I had more than that. I awakened to my alarm, gratefully interrupted in the midst of a nasty one. When I said so to Joe, he told me he'd had a really awful one too. This is the second night in a row he's dreamed he's died. This makes me uncomfortable.
If ever I wanted to be wrong about anything, it was about the "death toll," which sickens me as much as the death tolls touted on evening news specials in my teen years. I was a pacifist then. I still am, I suppose, though it doesn't sit well in the pit of my stomach where so much intestinal acrobatics continues with every fireball flashback. But my mother and I had a sick discussion last weekend, with her insisting the death toll would go down, or hang in there around 5,000. This was when 4,700 or so was the count. Of course, I hoped in my heart she was right, but insisted I thought it would be closer to 8,000 - I reflected on the 7-story subterranean mall as a justification for my guess. Now they're saying 6,333 and the acrobatics test me once again. I did not want to be right - for once!
Wednesday, September 19, 2001
I haven't written in a while, because I haven't known what to say. I'm just one person in a very complex world, and I know my prayers are swallowed in the whole of silent anguish assaulting our God right now, but I still say them. I think of the families, of the horror of leaping to death from some of the tallest buildings in the world, of the children grasping to understand how this makes sense, of the millions of people desperate to do something, anything just to help. Every day I cry when some new piece of this horror finally worms its way into my consciousness, and then I feel guilty for crying. There aren't any answers today, and there aren't any clear emotions anywhere. I want to back up a week, when fears of flying were mostly unfounded, and I didn't contemplate how quickly I can get to a surplus store for my very own gas mask. But we can't back up, it doesn't work that way. We just try to go on, realizing when we wake up that it wasn't a dream, that the world isn't fair, and that this fear isn't going to go away.