Seven and Eight Septembers

September 11th once again. I must be honest, the date doesn't really inspire me to write. Not because I don't have anything to say, mind you, but because I don't feel like writing about... it.

Like most of you, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and four airliners fell victim to a terrorist plot.

So... Where was I? I was in South Korea on a small Army camp called Camp Castle. What was I doing? I was getting ready to go to 121 Army Hospital in Seoul. How was I told? A soldier named Miguel Figueroa knocked on my door and told me to change from civilian clothes I was wearing into my uniform. It was almost comical the way he told me how the planes ended so many lives... he was in so much disbelief himself, that I couldn't believe him... much less a plot so... cinematic.

Needless to say, I had to check for myself, so I went up to my company's office (in my civilian clothes, naturally) and just about shit my pants when I saw the televisions and computer monitors.

Anyway, the rest of that particular anecdote is unimportant to everyone else but me, and it's not the point of my rambling tonight (or this morning, depending on perspective). The point is that I just noticed that I turned in my packet to rejoin the Army yesterday. On 9/10. Which means my processing will start on 9/11. I doubt there's any significance behind that, other than subtext falling into the cracks of a skewed imagination.

Where there is significance, however, is that I can finally rejoin the friends and colleagues whom I somewhat selfishly left behind. I've asked them to do what I haven't been doing for long enough. I no longer feel as though I've earned the past seven years of relative comfort. 9/2/02 is when I left active duty the first time... September has it out for me, I suppose.

Or something like that.

Perhaps I'm just crazy.