7 years ago

Sam has taken a job driving cab from 6am-6pm. It doesnt pay well. He has already gotten up and gone to get the cab. I am fast asleep in the moldy apartment. I have started taking benadryl every night, just so i dont sniffle and cough while trying to get to sleep. The benadryl causes deep, restful sleep, but it also makes it twice as hard to get up when the alarm goes off. I am awoken by him, shaking me softly saying "get up, you have to see this." I groggily rub my eyes as i stumble into the spore-filled living room and plop down on the couch - the couch that conceals the mold crawling up the walls. On the too-bright television, there is a panicked voice, and words blurrily stream across the bottom of the screen. On the television, there is also a picture of two buildings, with big, jagged gunshot wounds. Thick black blood seems to be floating away from the wounds. As i sit and try to listen to Sam update me on what has happened, i find i cannot concentrate on his words. I manage to hear bits and pieces, but my tired eyes are glued to the television. I start crying, even though i really havent comprehended what exactly has happened, i just know its bad. It is then that i watch as one of the buildings crumples. Becomes a big cloud of dark gray and brown dust, just like that. The big red box in the corner screams at me "LIVE!" I watch horrified, eyes as big as saucers. In that moment, i am the awake-est i have ever been. I have just witnessed hundreds of people killed on live television.

The rest of the day is just... numb. People are not smiling. They are stopped in grocery store aisles, on sidewalks outside tv stores (just like in the movies,) in their cars with the radio on... listening to the horror.

That day could not end fast enough.

Just like the last two weeks. I am emotionally exhausted.

Attending not one but two friends funerals. Trying to be strong and not let the tears stream down my face. Knowing that crying is not going to change what happened or how anyone else feels. Saying the wrong thing (but who knows really) to someone who is grieving a lot harder than me. Meeting the brothers of the man who plowed our driveway for free all winter, only to do a horrible thing in the last 2 minutes of his life. Wishing that i had talked, asked, delved more into his life than i did. Thinking maybe its a good thing i didnt. Wanting next friday to be here tomorrow so i can fly and see my family and hug and kiss and hold and love and be loved.