9.11.01
Where were you, that day? I know exactly what I was doing...
One of the joys, and perils, of writing a daily journal—every day since October 12, 1978—is that all the good days, and the very worst ones, are recorded in the moment I was living them. It makes for painful reading on the day my mom died (12.8.17), but so joyful on my wedding day (5.30.87). As I was descending, emotionally, into the 20th anniversary of…
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