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2001-09-12 | 11:29 a.m.

Can't seem to organize my thoughts. It's not that I am so devastated I can't go on, but that the news lures me, contains me.

I do not think so much about the big picture. I think about the people, and what they went through.

Keep imagining what it must have been like to be on a hijacked plane. To know for certain that you will die. Except I know I can only imagine the tattered edge of it. The reality eludes me.

A man called his wife from the plane, said, "I love you, honey." He said his plane had been hijacked but that he and some others were "going to do something about it." Then the plane went down in a field. So maybe they did do something.

I think about people jumping out of windows 100 stories up. Not because they want to die, but because it gives them some control over their death. Who would choose a death by fire?

People coming down the stairs who could not be helped because they could not bear to be touched. Their skin had melted.

I wonder how many of them hoped for some miracle to save them.

I wonder who among them had lost all hope.

Some of them must have said to themselves, "This is it." Over and over again. This is it. Their minds were clear.

It's so wrong. It's all so wrong. We shouldn't do it to them, and they shouldn't do it to us.

I should do some work. I blew off everything yesterday. Today the hours just seem to slip by. The masons are here, building the fireplace. But if they ask me to pay them, I don't know what I'll do. Duff is still stuck in Chicago. Supposedly he has a flight scheduled for tomorrow morning, though now I hear the FAA says they won't open airports by midday today. So who knows when he'll be back.

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