I had a guitar lesson every Tuesday at 7:30. I would get up early and make it into the practice rooms at 7 so I could warm up before hand. I finished my lesson and hit the practice room again. Only for a few minutes, to review what we covered.
Leaving the music building, I noticed a number of people you wouldn't normally see, like the chef, heading for the dorms.
I entered the Men's Lounge to discover 20 or more people crowded around the small TV there. On the screen were the Twin Towers, one in flames. I watched the second plane hit.
I put my guitar away and rejoined the growing crowd.
We had chapel that morning, it consisted entirely of It is Well With My Soul and the College President canceling classes for the afternoon.
I went on a long, quiet walk. I prayed, but that didn't make sense. I tried to talk with some friends, but no had any answers.
I went to my Ex-Girlfriends apartment and apologized for being a jerk.
I'm pretty sure I called my mom.
When I get home today, I'm going to hug my kids, kiss my wife, and thank God for the life that still lives in my lungs. I'm going to drink it in and be grateful.
I'm going to spend some time in silence out of respect for those who died.
I'm also going to band rehearsal tonight. I am going to play the hell out of my guitar. I'm going to celebrate the life that still lives in my heart. Doing anything else but live my life to the fullest would be a dis-service to those who perished.

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