It's a cold morning, and I'm wearing my fleece for the first time albeit with flip flops. Can't find my fuzzies. Boo is dozing next to me on the cold porch. Kitty's inside, watching the busses through the window.

9.11. Sara Sturdevant ousting me from my classroom to morning meeting, which I was planning to skip, and then flicking on my classroom tv to show the first tower being hit. Then tower 2, then Shanksville, then full panic.

It's what drove my decision to move, to start singing again, to put myself out there more. It's been more than a full decade now, since that day.

I can't remember the promises that I made to myself. Tucked away in some random, scattered notebook in a box or maybe a landfill somewhere.

I wonder if I've been true?


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