Thursday September 13. 2001


My Dad brought my bike down to Philly on Saturday. This was presumably to take me to school and avoid the usual parking jam, as well get my fat ass a little bit of a workout. I haven't actually gotten on it yet, mostly out of fear because I barely remember how to ride a bike and I don't have a helmet of any kind.

I had a dream last night, that I was biking through the streets of Lower Manhattan. It was like it was before all this. I was trying to either get away from something or trying to get to something. It was very urgent, and I couldn't manage to ever get there.

The more I watch the news coverage, the more my mind replays each time I went downtown and just wandered around. My boring class trip to see the stock market in 1999. The day I wandered in its shadow, trying to figure out how to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The day I took the 1/9 to South Ferry, got carmel apple cider at a Starbucks and walked up through the financial district, in the Saturday afternoon quiet. And the beautiful, sunny day, not much unlike Tuesday, when John and I went down to see his workplace, walked through Battery Park and took the State Island Ferry, just for the heck of it. The WTC isn't something you thought would ever go away. It was a giant, benevolent beast looming from above. And though more than once I looked up at it and sneered at the blantant symbol of soulless corporate America, I find myself missing it terribly.

I am mourning for the people who have died, of course. I am mourning for the brothers, sisters, wives, daughters and sons who are plastering fliers all over Lower Manhattan. I am mourning for them as they stare sadly in the camera, repeating the name, floor, building and company of their loved ones in hope of something, anything. But most of all, I am mourning for that city I love.

New York City is the home of my heart, mirroring so much happiness and despair and love in my life. When I first visited it when I was 14, I very clearly thought that this was the greatest city in the world. And I still think that, and I will probably never stop thinking that. It hurts my heart to see the city and her residents suffering so much. It hurts me so much.

One Year Ago:
"Now, I do not claim to know anything about raising children, other than having been one, but I can tell you that trying to negotiate with a two or three year old child on their choice of pastry for upwards of 10 minutes is unnecessary and futile."

Two Years Ago:
"For all those of you who say art school can't possibly be hard work, I have two words: fuck you."