i spent much of monday hiding from the news; trying to avoid newspapers, talk radio and television steeped in september 11 memorials. five years after the september 11 terrorist attacks i find myself less prepared to talk about them than i was right after it happened. mostly when i think about september 11 i feel resentful and angry about the many ways in which the events of that day have been twisted, spun, remade and remodeled for a myriad of different purposes, some well-meaning distortions, some blatant manipulations, for the personal or political or financial gain. but if i’m honest with myself, then i have to admit that it’s easier to feel angry about the political implications than it is for me to contemplate the untimely and horrific deaths of all those people. i didn’t know anyone personally who died on september 11, and so maybe for that reason i’ve never worked through the grief process, because i don’t really have a grief to call my own. but on monday when i turned on the radio and heard the names of the dead being read, my eyes filled with tears and i had to turn the radio back off. maybe i haven’t gotten past the deep secretive guilt that it took me hours on that incongruously beautiful september morning to fully comprehend the gravity of what had occurred. i was visiting a dear friend in san francisco that day. i woke to the insistent ring of my cellphone; a repeated phone messages from my mother extorting me to turn on the television. i was sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in a blanket over my pj’s, a cat climbing across my lap, when the second tower fell, watched it live on television. my friend woke up and we watched the news in stunned silence for what seemed like hours, until the news became repetitive and tasteless (DAY OF TERROR, read the Fox News graphic). we wandered down the eerily quiet hills of San Francisco onto Market street and ordered breakfast at the only cafe that was open. i was lifting a bite of eggs to my mouth when my friend said, “do you think this is like Pearl Harbor? that we’ll remember where we were when it happened?” and we looked at each other and it was at that moment that i realized the gravity of what had occured. my condolences, to all of the people who lost family and loved ones on that day. i’m sorry i don’t know how to talk about this. i’m sorry i ate eggs the day that your loved ones died. i’m sorry i couldn’t listen to the names of the dead being read. they deserve that, at least.