A number of months ago, I decided to participate in the 2996 Project, brought to my attention by Simply Left Behind. I responded to blogger D. Challener Roe's call to speak about one of the many people who died during the early daylight hours of September 11, 2001. I specifically asked to write about Michael Richards, an artist who died in his artist studio located at the World Trade Center.
And then, I proceeded to do nothing.
At the time that I emailed regarding the project, I didn't really anticipate the possible impact of my decision. I knew my dad was sick, but I didn't expect him (who ever expects it?) to die. I did, however, really ceased to function from May (when I found out my dad had cancer) to August. Only now, looking back, do I realize that I had been so worried about my dad that I couldn't concentrate on anything else.
My dad died on August 24, 2006. I had known he was sick, but apparently he was sicker than he wanted me and my sister to know. I'm still a bit shocked that he's gone. I've been having an argument with a really good friend for the past few months, and I've been too chicken to really talk to her. In March 2006, I moved from the bestest apartment for one person in the entire Universe, after living there for five years. I needed to move from Brooklyn (the bestest borough in the Universe) to the Bronx to be closer to work and got a roommate again. I also finally started paying my student loan. Either the apartment or the student loan had to go. I chose the apartment, but at least I've paid my loan on time for several months now.
In January 2006, my cat of 11.5 years (who I had from the day she was born) passed away after being misdiagnosed, rediagnosed, and then going through a harsh operation. Several months earlier, I attended a conference in New Orleans. I left on the 21st of August 2005, one week prior to Katrina's landing. I was a bit emotional afterward, as I had also visited the city in 2004 for a family reunion. I also researched and published a major paper on the man who coined and defined the word, "genocide." That was fun stuff.
Luckily, I was in Los Angeles for the Great Friendly Blackout of the Greater Great Lakes in 2003. From early 2001-2003, all sorts of crazy things happened, beginning with my constant screaming at the TV from the first day of the Bush Administration's taking of the White House and continuing in a more satirical sense (and intact televisions), combating the overreaching banalities of the Bush Administration with the Billionaires for Bush. And of course, I still remember the smell of 9/11.
It's the thing of that day that I will never forget. I never want to smell that smell again.
Needless to say, I've been a little tense over the last five years. I also need a boyfriend, and dammit, I actually worked on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (Regis edition) until January 2002. Isn't that one thing humiliation enough without all the other nightmarish rigamorole? Hhhmmm?
At least I am typing this on a new MacBook, but that's beside the point.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that the past five+ years haven't been so merry, but in actuality, they haven't been so bad, either. Except for the Bush thing. That's just been the worse thing (almost) ever.
I've had a lot of fun, and good laughs with a great many wonderful people. I've gotten into arguments, I've been there and I haven't, but all in all, good years, with some very hard blows. I try to stay optimistic and hope for the best, and all of my friends tell me to be optimistic. Let's just say I'm optimistically pessimistic. (Hell, I'm still thinking that maybe the Second Coming is really coming.) Truthfully, I'm a lot happier than people think I am; I just get down every now and then that my life and the world isn't exactly where I hoped they would be at this point. I really thought the world (and me) would be better by now.
Anyway, I kinda haven't been doing what I was supposed to be doing this summer (including apologizing to my friend, researching and writing about Michael Richards, and blowing off temporarily one project and permanently, I think, another). It's been that kind of summer.
It's been that kind of five years.
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