The day before …

There was an amazing, amazing article in Washingtonian magazine, “9/10: The Day Before.” Read it. I can’t do it justice to describe it here.

I thought back to my 9/10. I probably have a diary entry about the day. But my journals are in storage. And frankly I don’t care if I ever read them again.

But I can say with near-certainty that I didn’t document the day. I had my three smoke breaks with my boys Doug and Andy at 10 a.m., 1 p.m. and 3 p.m.

Doug and I were still in that “getting to know you” phase and everything was fun and flirtation … that we were super-careful to keep away from the disapproving eyes of cranky supervisors.

I know I worked late, un-fucking up a grant proposal my little fuckup “wrote.” I got home around 11 p.m., knowing I had a 7:30 a.m. meeting with Ora Lee (her real name) and my CEO who loved to treat me like shit based on my skin color not matching hers.

Read: No real reason to wake up.

Dinner was at Fox’s Pizza Den that I could see from my bedroom window. I ate there a lot and it explains why I was morbidly obese at the time. I’m pretty sure I picked up some Moose Tracks ice cream from the CoGo’s downstairs. Planning for the weekend or, at least, for the next night of eating my feelings.

That was it. I ate that ice cream while I watched the wall-to-wall TV coverage the next night. And fought back the feeling that I was already dead. And wondered whether I were too dead to come back from it.

That’s my story. Not one worth telling in Washingtonian magazine. But probably one more people can identify with.

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