Eight years ago today, on the morning I heard the awful news about the terrorist attacks, I was writing the manuscript for my second book, Profiles From Prison. I put down my pen and walked downstairs to the television room in Fort Dix to watch the news reports. I hated being a prisoner that day, as I wanted to be with my family, to be a part of the community. I’m still sad when I think about it, and this morning, I prayed for all of our citizens, including those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001.
I began writing early this morning, at 1:37. I wrote on chapter twelve until just before 6:00, completing through page 246. Then I went outside to exercise. I only ran three miles, because I had to shop in the commissary and prepare for my visit with Carole.
At 8:00 I was dressed in my creased khaki pants and white t-shirt. I called Carole to see how far away she was, but she told me car trouble would keep her from visiting. My heartache came instantaneously. It’s such a massive disappointment for me when any complications interrupt my time with Carole. She is what I wait for every week. It’s like I’m out of breath when our visits are cancelled. The reason for the let down is that I give such a buildup in waiting for her. As soon as she leaves after a visit, I count on writing the next chapter of my manuscript and running 63 miles, then seeing her again on Friday. But I will not have Carole’s kiss today. I’m sad, so today I’ll read rather than write.
My running tally is now 2,420 miles over the past 273 days.
Friday, 11 September 2009
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