I hate this day
I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate the mazes of barricades on the sidewalks, the bored-looking cops everywhere. I hate the crowds of grinning, gawking tourists. I hate the cameras all over the place. I hate it.
Why do they have to turn grief into a convention? Why do they have to make a fucking street fair out of this?
Why does NO ONE ELSE seem bothered by this?
Why am I so bothered by it? I was 5 miles away. I lost no one.
Every day, every single day, I read about 9/11 for work. I read the transcripts of phone calls from the plane companies to the families, descriptions of what they wore or carried on that day. I read articles, the Commission Report. I look at photos of the hijackers. ALL THE TIME. I work right next to Ground Zero. The Brooks Brothers store in my building was used as a morgue for a while. I'm always OK.
When I interviewed, they asked me, "Will this bother you?" And I said no. And it doesn't usually bother me. I don't think about it very much. It's a job. We all whore somewhere.
And I've stopped thinking about the big construction site next to my building as anything more than a construction site, even though, every time some wide-eyed, camera-wielding tourist asks me to point them to Ground Zero, I want to shout - it's THERE, it's that big fucking hole in the ground, you feel fucking MOVED yet? You feel like you can go back to your friends in Indiana and shake your head meaningfully and talk about how fucking TRAGIC it feels to be there, just before you segue into a discussion of the latest episode of "The Amazing Race"? So THERE, it's over there, and there's not much poetry about it anymore. Sorry, they had to get rid of the bodies. I know, it would have made a better picture that way.
I've never said that. I've just pointed and walked on. A few times, I've had to bat away a conspiracy theorist. It's not that big a deal.
It's NOT that big a deal. Not to me. I was lucky. I did the vigils and the blood drives and the marches right afterward - for about a week. And then I moved on. I didn't have very much to move on FROM, anyway.
But today, today - I just can't stand it. I can't stand how normal everyone is behaving. Am I really the only one who can't think straight? I can't be. There are so many families, so many people who are ripped apart all over today. I have no right to feel like this.
I just hate it. I hate the streets. I hate these narrow little streets, oozing with slow-moving flesh-colored lava. Reminds me of Pompeii, of all things. Petrifying everything with its idle curiosity. What the hell are they hoping to find here? What are they here to celebrate? Don't tell me they are here to "remember." No one is listening to the list of names - you can hardly hear it over the chatter of the onlookers and the noise of traffic.
It's dirt, it's all dirt. And I'm part of it.
Why do they have to turn grief into a convention? Why do they have to make a fucking street fair out of this?
Why does NO ONE ELSE seem bothered by this?
Why am I so bothered by it? I was 5 miles away. I lost no one.
Every day, every single day, I read about 9/11 for work. I read the transcripts of phone calls from the plane companies to the families, descriptions of what they wore or carried on that day. I read articles, the Commission Report. I look at photos of the hijackers. ALL THE TIME. I work right next to Ground Zero. The Brooks Brothers store in my building was used as a morgue for a while. I'm always OK.
When I interviewed, they asked me, "Will this bother you?" And I said no. And it doesn't usually bother me. I don't think about it very much. It's a job. We all whore somewhere.
And I've stopped thinking about the big construction site next to my building as anything more than a construction site, even though, every time some wide-eyed, camera-wielding tourist asks me to point them to Ground Zero, I want to shout - it's THERE, it's that big fucking hole in the ground, you feel fucking MOVED yet? You feel like you can go back to your friends in Indiana and shake your head meaningfully and talk about how fucking TRAGIC it feels to be there, just before you segue into a discussion of the latest episode of "The Amazing Race"? So THERE, it's over there, and there's not much poetry about it anymore. Sorry, they had to get rid of the bodies. I know, it would have made a better picture that way.
I've never said that. I've just pointed and walked on. A few times, I've had to bat away a conspiracy theorist. It's not that big a deal.
It's NOT that big a deal. Not to me. I was lucky. I did the vigils and the blood drives and the marches right afterward - for about a week. And then I moved on. I didn't have very much to move on FROM, anyway.
But today, today - I just can't stand it. I can't stand how normal everyone is behaving. Am I really the only one who can't think straight? I can't be. There are so many families, so many people who are ripped apart all over today. I have no right to feel like this.
I just hate it. I hate the streets. I hate these narrow little streets, oozing with slow-moving flesh-colored lava. Reminds me of Pompeii, of all things. Petrifying everything with its idle curiosity. What the hell are they hoping to find here? What are they here to celebrate? Don't tell me they are here to "remember." No one is listening to the list of names - you can hardly hear it over the chatter of the onlookers and the noise of traffic.
It's dirt, it's all dirt. And I'm part of it.