I remembered my own high school. Kids in the halls scoffed and yelled "Cool!" when they heard that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded, and they ran to the courtyard so they could see it.

It was a catholic school, and the principal asked the chaplain to lead the student body in a prayer.

The chaplain was teacher of a class I was in that day. He ended class early, saying "The God-damn principal wants me to say a fucking prayer for the space shuttle."

As the morning unfolded I could practically see the same sorts of things happening across America.

I expected someone to call in to MSNBC saying they were alive at the bottom of the rubble, only to end their call with a shout-out to Howard Stern.

Did school kids burst into applause that day? Was there fist-pumping and high-fives and shouts of "Excellent"?

I don't know, but I've known Americans who would do those things.

I thought a lot about the Angry Young Man in the days that came.

If the Angry Young Man ever had any stature in my mind, it was completely vanquished. I looked out the window that day and saw an expression of anger that he couldn't even understand.

That would not stop him, though. The Angry Young Man would become an instant authority on terrorism and Islamic extremists. A couple of installments of the Charlie Rose Show and a lot of National Public Radio would turn his opinions into weapons.

At those moments when he was losing an argument he would invoke a terrifying fact about September 11 to give his point of view maximum shock value and, by extension, unimpeachable authority.

Last week I dreamed that the north tower was still standing, and I saw it at night with all its lights on. It made me so happy.

Another time I dreamed that I worked at a company in lower Manhattan, and when the planes started flying into the buildings we evacuated to the roof of our building and watched. We had lawn chairs and Snapple and we called the action like sports announcers. The planes just kept coming in. From that dream I can still see the 5th plane hitting the north tower, and the 8th and 9th planes dropping into Buttermilk Channel and onto Governors Island.

I had a dream that I was on the 99th floor of the south tower and the only way out was through a special little hole that allowed snakes to slither down into hell. And when I slithered down into hell I thought "Hmm, what do I do now?"

I remember one funny moment, though. I think it was on September 13th. A news channel was showing new amateur video footage taken by someone on the street. The video showed one of the towers coming down, and you could hear someone on the street shout "HOLY SHIT!"

The funny thing was that they bleeped out the curse word. The Twin Towers come down and you hear "HOLY <BLEEP>!"

I laughed and laughed and laughed. There must have been a producer in the newsroom saying "OK, kids, we've got new video of what could be 5,000 people being murdered. Let's show it but I want NO CURSING."

I had intended to be anywhere but here on this day, but decided to not do anything I would not otherwise do just because of some day. I thought I could face this anniversary with some stroke of arrogance or defiance, but now that it is here the humiliation and terror of that day drains the life out of me.

I think I will spend the day cleaning the apartment, making my fabulous pasta salad, and waiting for the sky to fall.