Four years ago, I didn't have a diaryland account. I ended up getting one in October of 2002. However, I have pretty much tried keeping journals for years and this weekend I was digging through a bin I brought from my mom's house and found a couple of these. I was startled to find I had written something on September 11, 2001. The entry before it was September 9, 2001. Life was so hectic for me. Ridiculously, overwhelmingly so. I was in Berkeley, CA in a complicated dead-end relationship. I was so fucking poor. And things were just a mess. My whole life revolved around the disaster that was that relationship.

Anyways. Here is my entry from September 11, 2001. There is also the image i cut from the san francisco chronicle the next day. But I won't post it because it's just too sad.

September 11, 2001

The media has called it Pearl Harbor 2. The twin towers in New York have been toppled to the ground by two commercial jets. Another plane has crashed into the Pentagon. Another plane has fallen from the sky and there's another unconfirmed crash. [This turned out to be an error, remember that?] Some are saying we're at war. San Francisco is tense as is my family back [home].

More than concern for safety is shock and sadness. The collapse of the first twin tower is on camera. As is the second plane crashing into the second tower as well as its collapse. I've never felt so chilled. The disintegration is creepy and something I can't grasp.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Over and over again I've watched endless footage. I feel as long as I'm close to a TV screen with the news on I'm somehow safer. I'm trying to really get this thing and I can't. I feel as if I've been pulled into a movie as an extra. None of this is possible to me.

On a different subject. I know this will somehow bite me in the ass but M@tt's driving me crazy. Everything I do or don't do is a problem as well as what I say or don't say. Seems like the only time he's been quiet in a nonmenacing way is when I was sitting watching the movie he rented. He's been overly emotional and jumping down my throat. He's either very sweet and cooperative or a grumpy pompous impatient person.
If I told him this or he read it he'd fume. I want to go home. I miss my family; I need them.

I won't go to Canada. I don't believe in running away in shit. Not that there's a need- that's just been everyone's reaction. [Funny how everyone wants to go to Canada when this country goes to shit...] I hate today. I just want my family.