I was at the ACC Rio Grande campus, in the library – Calculus was first thing in the morning, and then I’d hang out before catching the bus down to Central Market for my shift. I had checked my e-mail and hit the news sites before class, and at that point all anyone knew was that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. No terrorism, no foul play, no hijacking… just… a plane crash.

Everyone in my class had heard about the crash, and everyone had different bits of news reports to share. The teacher sensed nothing would get done and dismissed us early, and I headed back to the library to check e-mail again. A crowd was gathering, and the library staff pulled a TV cart over and turned on the news. Everyone was rapt. Every space was filled with someone sitting or standing or leaning, watching the TV. And we watched, live, as the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed. People gasped, others were crying (including me). We were all frozen to our spots, watching as the news channel looped the video over and over – the crashes, the collapse, a plane in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon, the debris, the people running through ash, the people jumping from the windows… When the announcer broke in to show the collapse of the North Tower, at first we thought it was just another replay. Both towers? Both towers collapsed?

I wanted to stay in the library; I felt like I was rooted to my spot. But I was broke, and my job was expecting me. Most places were closing or already closed, but our store stayed open – people would need their olive bar mix and their organic tamales. But no customers came in, and everyone was in a fog – crying, hugging one another, whispering, shuffling around with nothing to do. Finally, in the middle of the afternoon with no sudden burst of grocery traffic in sight, our managers closed the doors. I was living with my brother at the time, and I rode the bus home and camped out in front of his TV. Where the videos were still looping without end.

• I’ve noticed my writing is “swooshier” when I write with a felt-tip pen than when I write with a ball-point pen.

• If Jason beats me home from work, I can tell he’s home because the shade on our front window is open. And when I get out of the car, I can hear him playing the piano.

• Pretzels covered in peanut-butter yogurt are delicious.

• I suck at parallel parking, even in our tiny car.

• I often, if not always, judge books by their cover. The designer’s curse.

• It’s been so long since I’ve been to the gym that I’ve lost my membership card. I hope they give me another one, because my membership doesn’t expire until August 2011.

• I dance around our living room. A lot.

• Every time my leg feels the slighest bit numb, I’m afraid I have another ovarian cyst. That’s how we discovered the last one.

• Jason won’t let me get a scooter. He’s been hit by cars twice – once on his bike and once on foot – and feels the damage would only get worse if I were going faster.

• I have little willpower to stop the buying transaction if something I’m thinking about buying comes in lime green.

• I’d be a lot thinner if I were allergic to Mexican food. And gravy.

• Jason once found a list of the things I wanted in a husband (I was only 14 or 15 when I wrote it). He still teases me about how few of the criteria he meets.

How many people do you know that have Hanson, Girl Talk, Jump Little Children, Neil Diamond, Cookie Monster, and the soundtrack to “Hairspray” in their iTunes playlist simultaneously? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Special snowflake, right here.