Never forget when. 22 years after the rain on confetti plain.

 

22 years they're saying, the immensity of it all.

Sure, and that's just fine, and all, to remember 22 years ago, Limbaugh lambasting W for condescending to work with Ted Kennedy on No Child Left Behind, and all.

And then.

Well.

One more.

And then, in the intervening 22 years, a great glob of nothing, made so much of by my supposed betters.

It makes me plenty fucking mad.  It makes me wonder if the War on Terror casualties were the last of the really decent people being disposed of by sending them into a sort of senseless war of anger.

Since then?  That great glob of nothing?  I relent to think that way: it robs people of their humanity, and makes me thirst for some kind of recompense--my own 9/11 story, as it was, as if I were some defaced general, "father of a murdered family", or something.

It makes me want to do something evil, but not to arabs, but to all, without much discretion or discrimination.

Lost property, lost family members.  The tv hound gleefully watching everything slip away except his tv, and me thinking his tv needs to go, and that other stuff needs to come back.

As if some of my nearest worked for the sports leagues and tv networks; that's not life, that's extra, but that's all they have, mostly, that extra, and I get madder and madder, and want to just take a chunk out of it all.

It all depends what you're remembering.

2001 was a more innocent time, and there were assets, things and people to care for; our lives, though particularly flat, were peppered from without by relationships and so forth.

I'd like to pull the Morris homestead sideways out of the ass of someone like W.

22 years ago it was a horror, and something moved, and its all been, never a particularly spontaneous word, as it were, and don't get me started on Rockingham.

There is one saving grace, that its in the end somebody else's problem entirely, and I can go on to more of my little nothing.

I had a VHS.  Six hours of CBS national network coverage, mostly hosted by Dan Rather, live and flying by the seats of their pants.

9/11 anger, I dealt with, but the anger over the stuff since really just sits bubbling, percolating, beneath the surface, waiting to attack like PTSD.