September 11th, 2006

Whale fluke

(no subject)

This morning, like the same morning five years ago, I had trouble sleeping.

In 2001, Tuesdays were normally a day off for me, but my call center had been busy starting the week before and I had signed up for an extra shift, to start at 10 a.m. I woke up around 3 a.m. Pacific Time, much earlier than normal. After struggling with trying to sleep again, I gave up and listened to the radio for a few hours.

The DJs I was listening to 'round 6 a.m. that morning had not yet talked on-air about the first plane hitting the World Trade Center, though they had heard off-air about it. By the time they went back on air, the second plane had struck, and they had to report that an attack was under way. At most, I was only able to think the first hit was an accident for about 10 seconds (I even briefly, and insanely, wondered if it had anything to do with the terminal fire that had happened at Newark's airport a few days before). And the emotional roller coaster all of us went on began for me in those seconds...after I'd had nearly three more hours of wakefulness than I normally would have had.

Some months later, I mentioned this to my hair stylist at the time, Gina -- in appearance, smarts and temperment, she was kind of like a higher-voiced, Italian-descended version of Daria O'Neill -- and she said that she knew several people who had had the same trouble sleeping that morning as I had. It's as if on some level, unconscious or semi-conscious or something, many of us sensed that morning that something was off. I really believe that. It's as if we picked up on some sort of energy in the world, the energy of how -- in my words in my written journal that night -- "The world shifted today."
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