and then it was wednesday
All I get is questions about 9-11 media at work. I con't watch any of it on TV anymore. It's been forced down my throat so much already that it's surreal for me and I am losing touch with the event despite having gone to new york shortly afterwards and smelling the soot, concrete dust, and death that lingered through the air. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sure, buy this book, it'll help you understand what it's like to be burned (phyically or emotionally) horribly as you lie helplessly watching your loved spouse die. It'll make it almost like you are there. I hope you got to take a tour of it once, because I never did and I regret it to some degree. But there's nothing I can do about that, so go ahead and watch special TV programming tomorrow, and get your emotional imput from that instead of soaps so that you can fantasize and hide inwardly a life that so closely doesn't resemble your own dull one. I'll be here at work. Fuck.