September 13, 2001
Horrific Rambling
In an attempt at normalcy, I destroyed and re-assembled my room today. And I counted the number of spiral bound notebooks under my bed that contain stories.
I have 25.
Marginally less than my original estimate of 90.
Let's just say I'm not good with numbers.
Ryan is home until Sunday. His flight is officially postponed, so he doesn't have to keep driving up to Columbus every day to be told to drive right back home.
And my dad felt the need to remind me today that if the country tends to things the way the country usually tends to things, Ryan will be taken from me in a more legitimate nature. Now why, exactly, would my father want to bring this up? Do I seem like the strong emotional type that would just swallow the idea that the man that they love could be sent to war?
The surreality of the situation is maddening. All of this happened, and things will happen because of it. But I'd still like to reside inside the safety of my delusion in assuming this could never touch me.
Then why do I have such a horrible feeling that it will?
I suppose it is in the selfishness of human nature to put ourselves into the big picture, to try to imagine what it would be like for us.
astera at dark