I was driving home from Camp Villere after running when I heard a snippet on the radio about a plane hitting the World trade Center. I didn't think anything more about it as I showered and changed--I figured it was a little Cessna or something, and surely an accident. On the way to the gym the reports of the other tower being hit and the Pentagon being hit were coming on. Kelly and I managed to get something of a workout, but stopped between every set to watch the tvs in the gym, horrifed and nauseated as we watched both towers collapse.

I cried. Often.

Mom and I tried to give blood yesterday, but the blood center in town was swamped with people, and the workers were completely unprepared for the influx. It was terribly disorganized, and so after two hours of waiting without our number being called, and knowing that I had to work a detail later that afternoon, we gave up. I'll try again on Friday.

Over two hundred police, firemen and rescue workers are still missing.