The "where were you" post

Note: I don't think my story is particularly special, but there's something to be valued in having many experiences of the day entering into a collected, public mass of stories. A group story.

When the second plane hits at 9:03 am, I am still in my apartment in Hyde Park, at 51st and Dorchester.
8:03 am Central Standard Time.
I am up early (for me) because it is the second day of my first grad program.
(I had turned on the TV to help wake up.)
I watch the second plane hit, live. It is not surreal.
I call the school to see if it is still open.
The Pentagon has not yet been hit.
The woman gives me attitude, as if I'm some whiny freshman trying to get out of class. "Of course we're still open." "But the planes." "We're open."
Either she hasn't heard yet or the whole thing is still just some freak accident in New York.
I go to school.
We sit in a lecture hall and are told if we need to leave, it's okay.
A new friend without a TV hadn't heard anything.
I hear myself say, "Two planes crashed into the Twin Towers in New York." "Oh my god." "I know."
Our conversation is quiet and sounds idiotic to me.
I feel generally safe where I am because, who would attack the south side of Chicago?
Unless they were aiming for the Sears Tower and missed.

The next night, watching the endlessly-looping news, I see Diane Sawyer in a rumpled white dress shirt. Her hair is a small mess.
I think how attractive she looks.
I think I am a terrible person for having dirty thoughts about Diane Sawyer right now.
I stop watching television, or only put on children's shows because everything else is news.
All alternative images are welcome.
I don't remember calling anyone to talk about it, and definitely not anyone one from my program because we hardly know each other and I am feeling shy, though most of us live nearby.
In the month between the attack and the start of war, it seems everyone here signs petitions to stop it, knowing our signatures will do no good.