megaphone
[archives]
megaphone archive
[writing]
[randomness]
[index]
I worried about how everyone at school was taking it, felt selfish for worrying about my obviously safe friends, and thought about how the places I'd lived must feel so different now. My roommate in New York, Liz, bugged us the whole time we were there to "go see World Trade"... My friend from study abroad, Eric, wanted me to see the Pentagon because it was the other largest building in the world, next to one he'd just seen in Budapest. And for some reason, the fact that I'd never taken those tours bothered me a little. You think to yourself, "Oh, I'll do that next time..." but sometimes, you can't. 9/6/2002 10:08:45 AM
And then, for some reason or another, my access to NU server's did not expire on Sept. 4. And I had a little time to think about it. And I realized that it's very, very weird how much thought and effort I regularly put into this very small web site. How many other things would I ever devote that much attention to? And is it wrong that I'd actually get out of bed and drive to the office to salvage this site's files if necessary (luckily, it wasn't). I like to sleep! I only get out of bed for critical things. To answer the phone or the door? Probably not. For a job? Maybe. For a close friend/family member in the hospital? Probably yes. Therefore, this web site must rank somewhere on my list of priorities higher than a job and almost as high as close friends. Now tell me. Is that sick? It sounds a little bit sick. But when you think about it, there's lots of stuff that people regularly give priority to that, when taken down to the barebones facts, seems out of proportion. American Idol? A hockey game? A new CD? Why do we get attached to certain things. How do we assign things priorities that, taken objectively, seem a little crazy? I didn't even *realize* that I'd get out of bed for a web page until this week. And it made me wonder. What are my priorities? Not just the ones that I *say* exist, but the ones that actually exist? 9/5/2002 01:25:34 PM
9.11
Disjointed, slightly bizarre ramblings written after the attacks. Written on yellowed sheets of old typing paper in a cozy cabin on Lake Superior, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where I was staying with three friends.
9/11
Today I woke up to Brendan knocking on Tara's door saying the World Trade Center's gone and a plane crashed into the Pentagon. I thought it was one of those jokey ways to get people out of bed. But it was true. One tower hit... people ran out... tower two hit... towers collapsed. I am scared beyond belief about the fate of the world. That we will enter a war as horrendous or worse than the one survived by Europe. That we can wake up one morning with the World Trade Center gone. Those two places were the only places I really meant to see but never did. Too late.
My God.
I was IN those cities. People have homes and lives there, just as surely as anywhere. Someone might as well have bombed Clarence, NY. Nothing distant about these attacks. Four planes hijacked. I'm sick to be back in Patrick's arms. To hear David's voice. To be safe. But there is no certainty here... not even that the World Trade Center will be standing tomorrow. We are all in flux, stability is an illusion of peace. What will save us? Anything?
I'm up at Tara's UP cabin, we got buzzed tonight on wine coolers, cheap berry wine, ate fresh fish, watched disaster unfold. I am so in disbelief. I cried only talking to my sister on the phone, knowing how scary this must be for her. Thank God we all seem to be safe. Tracy's ok. Mark isn't in New York yet.
Our ways of coping of a day of pressure:
Jon is watching Golden Girls.
Tara and Brendan mess around with an old piano and type writer.
I write this.
9/12
So it's the day after America was attacked and some news reports were on this morning, but it was already in my head, the unavoidable, can't just push this off as some faraway place. What do you do or even begin to do? Entire business firms wiped out?Today I go home, thank God.
My grandma knew I was here in the UP and hoped I hadn't found out. .... I'm still so shaken, inside but not deep inside. Just below the skin. There's a deeper peace that's still there. I'll try to protect it.
No planes today, all is still.
The force that drives the green fuse drives the flower is my destroyer drives my green age... my green age.
I just want to curl up in Buffalo until everyone is safe again. Will anyone ever be safe again? I'll never be able to write my novel now. Fucking hell.
This is chaos. Not in the cabin of course but over there in the war zone. I feel sick to see the pictures of NYC.
I think Jon is done with the shower. Yay. My turn next. But quick. Water is cold. Lake is cold. Bodies on ferries taken away. Save us, is all I ask. Going home soon.
End notes: 9/11/02
I think it's funny how I thought I needed to recap the details... as though I had to put down what all the newscasters were saying in case years from now everyone forgot the basic facts of the attack. It's weird how I quoted Dylan Thomas. I think I'd read that poem recently or something. It's weird how I joked I'd never be able to write my novel, now that everyone was going to die. It's extra-weird how I free-associated at the end, between the shower, Lake Superior, and the ferries in New York. Also remember.... how I told Patrick about it that morning, it was so weird because there was such a dividing line in our conversation. There was the hi-good-morning-happy-to-hear-from-you-part, and then I said, "Listen. Something bad has happened." That was the last time I straddled the border between the pre- and post-9/11 worlds.
The trip back to school ("home") was a 10-hour drive in Brendan's pick-up truck. I remember staring out the window as we drove through rural Michigan, Wisconsin and Illinois, every few minutes passing a flag that had been lowered. thoughts on this site
I found out on Sept. 3 that my access to Northwestern's servers would expire Sept. 4. So, while at work, when I should've been doing other things, I spent more than an hour getting all my files and transferring them to this site's new home, lindsaymuscato.com. Then that night, I thought of other odds and ends that I hadn't finished... I thought about redirecting visitors, whether people would stop coming, whether I should send out an e-mail.