Ground Zero

I woke up this morning with one of the worst hangovers I've had in a very long time. Yesterday was Adams Morgan Day here in DC - a day to celebrate the diversity of people and cuisine in this area of town. It's also an excuse to drink in the afternoon.

Adams Morgan Day is one of my favorite days of the year. I've gone to every one since I've moved here, and never have a bad time. This year, I got to spend it with some of my favorite people in the world. Good friends, both old and new. There were several moments when I just thought to myself, god I'm lucky.

And then I had a moment of grief. Of pure down. I was thinking of one particular person that I couldn't see, that wasn't there with me. This moment hit me like a ton of bricks. Probably incited slightly by alcohol, but even through the haze, I knew it was real. I felt stuck in time. Frozen. And then, before I knew it, it was late. And I was drunk. I had succeeded in repressing my sadness for a good three hours. Felt good at the time, but I'm sure my liver would disagree with me now.

It was like I blacked out of reality.

Sometimes when that happens it forces you to face the reality even more strongly than before. In the end, you either have to stay frozen or come out and deal with it.

Today was hard. This morning I was bombarded with images and memories of 9-11. Great. Another bit of reality for a Monday morning, I thought. Just what I need. In a small show of rebellion, I turned off my TV. But I couldn't escape it.

Ironically, I work in the same building I did on September 11, 2001. One floor up, but it's the same building. The same coffee guy. The same sidewalk. And the weather even seemed strikingly similar. It was eerie. And, to top it all off, I decided it'd be an awesome idea to listen to Les Mis on my way to work today. Smooth move, let me tell you. I've Dreamed a Dream? On My Own? Empty Chairs at Empty Tables? What the fuck was I thinking?

I could recount all the details of that day, but I won't bore you. There was screaming. Running. Chaos. I knew several people who were more closely affected. I remember not being able to call my mom because all the phone lines were out. I remember not eating, losing weight and just being utterly shocked. For months.

But one story that sticks out in my mind is actually a story of kindness.

I had just started working downtown, and didn't know which direction would take me back to my dorm. After finally making it out to the street, pushing my way through the mob, I realized I was alone. None of my coworkers bothered to see if I was ok to get home. The streets were crazed with both cars and people. Everyone was running. It was about 9am on Tuesday. I was so scared, and with no cell reception, I had no way of contacting a familiar voice. I started walking. I must have hailed about five cabs. They all refused to give me a ride. They were trying to get home too.

Finally, one cab driver stopped and asked me where I was going. "Georgetown," I said. "Please." On the verge of tears but still with survival instincts in full force, I had found my ride. I remember the driver being a woman, middle aged, white. Unusual to say the least. She said she'd take me because it was on her way home.

I remember talking about what we didn't know. Were we bombed? Were there still other parts of DC at risk? Did her cell phone work?

We drove along what I think was the Whitehearst Freeway. I remember looking at the river. And I remember seeing the smoke from the Pentagon. I never knew the Pentagon was so close. But at that moment, that is all I could see. A huge funnel of smoke. And it seemed only feet away.

By the time we got to campus, I was shaking. I don't remember many details of the conversation I had with the driver, but I do know that she was my angel that day. She asked me about my mom. About my work. She called me "honey" and mentioned something about getting home to see her own family. At that moment, I realized that Georgetown was not on her way home at all.

I don't believe you can compare one person's grief to another's. I don't pretend to know what it's like to have lost someone in the towers, in the Pentagon or in Pennsylvania. But I do know what grief is, generally speaking. And I know what it's like to lose someone. Or the idea of someone. I bet you do too.

After the debauchery of last night, I wondered if we have to hit bottom in order to see reality. How far into grief do we have to travel to start on the upslope again? Seven beers? Twenty beers? Ground Zero?

All I know is that I'm so grateful for those that support me in this journey. Those who give me a ride when no one else will stop. Thank god for my angel cab drivers...

Storm a Brewin'

Admiral Boom: Good afternoon to you, young man. Where are you bound?
Bert: Number 17. Got some parties who want to see it.
Admiral Boom: Enter that in the log.
Mr. Binnacle: Aye, aye, sir.
Admiral Boom: A word of advice, young man. Storm signals are up at number 17. Bit of heavy weather brewing there.
Bert: Thanks, Admiral. Keep an eye skinned.
Bert: Here we are, 17 Cherry Tree Lane. Home of George Banks, Esq. Hello, Hello, Hello. Admiral's right, heavy brewing at number 17 and no mistake.

10 points to whoever guesses the movie.

Speaking of heaving brewing, there is STORM a comin'! DC will be under a flood warning by the day’s end, on account of Tropical Storm Ernesto. But I’m not scared. I love this stuff. I’m like Lieutenant Dan on the ship. You know.

I say, bring it, Ernesto.

BRING.

IT.

And again, I have to apologize to my regular readers. Haha, all two of you. I know I broke my promise of posting every other day. There’s been some, how do I say this... shit. But all is better now. These last two weeks have been strange, but I haven’t forgotten to notice life’s little idiosyncrasies. So I have a lot to catch up on. Word.