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1:30 p.m., Saturday, October 13, 2001

It's been almost a week since I've written an update; I think subconsciously, I simply wanted to avoid any direct contact with current events. By writing, I must acknowledge that I am still living with tragedy, fear, and sorrow on a daily basis. Instead, during the week, I've tried to focus on something else -- anything else. Work, volunteering, continuing my education ... anything but the war. But the war still invades conversation, thoughts, atmosphere, as all us avoid the television but secretely log on to CNN.com for hourly updates.

Security throughout the city has increased again, to the highest level I can recall since September 12. It doesn't help matters that the pungent, ubiquitous smell of the burning towers persists. I went out to a simple pizza-and-salad dinner after work, and somehow the food tasted of metal.

This past Thursday night, however, was a welcome break. Restaurants throughout the city donated proceeds to the relief fund; the effort encouraged many of us who have not recently dined at the better restaurants to return to old habits. A small group of us chose Montrachet, a French bistro in TriBeCa. With the doors firmly closed against the acrid air, the atmosphere inside was almost one of celebration -- celebration of life, of pre-September 11th normalcy. The staff thanked us sincerely for dining with them; I was unsure whether their thanks indicated appreciation for contributing to the success of the relief fund efforts, or for helping to save their jobs. Either way, the appreciation was genuine and deep, and I certainly understand either reasoning.

It was a pleasure to be amid life again, customers savoring scrumptious meals and catching up with friends we haven't seen often enough. Watching the sommelier practice his craft, suggesting that, despite the label and the lower price, this bottle of wine is preferable to the other one, warmed my soul. I even splurged on an amazing chocolate cake that oozed rich sauce as I dug my fork into it, opting then for a spoon, and I lingered over it for more than half an hour. Aaah.

When we concluded the meal, two and half hours after beginning it, we felt a bit less reluctance than we normally would when we paid the outrageous bill; after all, we were contributing to a cause, and the experience -- lingering, sumptuous, reminding us of forgotten days -- made every dollar worth it. But as soon as we left, the air served as a bitter reminder. Still, we didn't allow it to dampen our spirit of living.

News reports in the last two days, however, cautioning us of an "imminent domestic attack," have shaken us once again. Although determined to remain strong and continue with the daily business of living, in our hearts, we remain concerned, often downright frightened. I admit that the situation is affecting me deeply; while I can avoid news reports and disregard warnings, all it usually takes now is someone close to me to theorize on the next attack to send me into a quiet panic, as my overzealous mind plays out the scenario in its most horrific form. I have friends with military backgrounds and careers in biology who have a gift for anticipating the worst. What is most frustrating to me is that it seems to be these same people who caution me to alter my behavior -- and then do exactly what they have told me not to do. I'm then scared to death and feeling betrayed and confused, and of course, they tell me not to worry.

To some extent, I believe that this is their way of dealing with the events, but it doesn't do anything positive for me or others like me. It seems to be the constant accumulation of information, concern for others, and bombardment of warnings that builds and builds to a crescendo of fear.

That fear reached a climax late last night, after a day of constant warnings from the media, new reports of impending attacks on the city, a friend-of-a-friend's report of an attack during rush hour, and finally, a potent security presence downtown that blanketed the area surrounding my apartment. Flashes of images filled my mind, suggestions of attack theories overwhelmed me, and all I could think was get out now! Throwing some items into a small suitcase, I fled the city, not forever, just for a few days, to once again breathe fresh air, both literally and figuratively. Once through the tunnel, past the skyline, and on the open road, I gazed up at the sky and noticed hundreds of visible stars. Their endurance comforted me, and I began to feel a bit silly about my over-reaction. I drove to a safe haven, surrounded by autumn leaves and cool, crisp air, and slept under a warm, thick blanket. Life outside remains normal. No guards, no guns, no burning holes. Tomorrow I'll return to the city and hold on to this peaceful image, once again strengthened by a respite from disaster. Despite the terrorists, the news reports, the warnings, and the thoughtless actions of those who act out of defiance instead of concern for those who love them, life will go on.