Soon to be two weeks, and I’m doing much better.
It is difficult to express the strange and unpredictable ways that what I saw affected me. The first week was a subdued nightmare; I kept an outward appearance of normalcy, but I wasn’t fine. Every night that first week, I had the same awful dream: sitting on Corona Heights, overlooking San Francisco, watching planes fall out of the sky and buildings explode. In waking, simply bizarre; in slumber, plenty enough to keep me awake. The dream came with a strange disconnect similar to the one I felt while watching the towers explode and fall. “Those aren’t people in there, no, those are pre-fab buildings made so that we can test our fire department’s readiness.” Or, “A strange art project, nothing more… an expression of pyrotechnic beauty.”
And it was beautiful.