Up until Monday, I was feeling guilty for not getting back to write. So much had happened that was significant: running for three days in New Mexico and deciding I was bad-ass, discussing moving in with C and finding an apartment, wanting to come clean about the past two years with C to my X, and my first year anniversary at work. Big things.

Then something bigger happened. I got to watch it unfold on TV. They've named it "America Under Attack," complete with exploding WTC graphics. I call it sad. And frightening.

I guess I'm lucky, living on the West Coast, far away from it all. All my friends in NYC and DC have been accounted for, thank goodness. I've even spoken to most of them. I've got blessings.

The most significant loss in my world is a friend of my roommate was the rugby player that called his mom from the flight that went down in PA. Roomie sent me an email Mark had written just a week ago that sums up everything I feel about queers and athletics. I'm going to keep that with me forever. Will the networks paint a complete portrait of this guy? Those have been my only tears.

I'm frightened of how this will change everything. Not just flying, but my taking everything for granted. I've never had to tally my friends before.

I'm scared of my "fellow" Americans, when I hear jingo-istic war cries on TV or in the office. The hatred and intolerance that will come out of this won't go away easily. Sure, we'll all remember the tragedy, I just hope we find a way to move past the anger and work on healing.

Gosh, that sounds so Californian.

Tragedy reminds me of how easily life can be stolen, how much I rely on others, and how important it is to overcome and heal. And that includes not thinking in "us" and "them" terms.

Perhaps it's too soon for mainstream America to hear such Kum Ba Yah sentiments. They're not being broadcast on TV or scribed in the papers. People are just beating the drum, rallying the masses.