After class one day in late February -- a Tuesday or a Wednesday -- there was a Red Cross van, accepting blood donations. So I thought, "Why the hell not?" and went for the free juice and cookie. I felt pretty good about donating blood, and I probably went to another class later that afternoon.
I essentially forgot about the whole blood-letting ordeal until I received a letter from the Red Cross months later, explaining that they had to reject my donation of red blood cells because there was some weird stuff floating around in it. (Seriously. WTF?) Not wanting to have the reputation of literal bad blood -- and confident of my own blood's awesomeness -- I made an appointment to go to one of the Red Cross' special buildings to have my blood tested (and vindicated!).
The appointment was for Tuesday, September the 11th, sometime during the day. Anyway, let's backtrack for a bit to August the 11th. I had invited some of my closest friends from high school to my house for some pizza, soda (as we were in that lame adult limbo between 18 and 21 at the time), and general mellow merriment. I guess I had to mention that bit of the summer because the date just sticks out in my head.
The fall quarter at my university hadn't started yet, so early September was still prime vacation time. I don't remember what I did on Monday, September the 10th, but I must have had a late night (early 11th) because I slept in. I think I woke up to the sound of my answering machine picking up a message, or from a family member (my mom or my brother) telling me that there was a voicemail for me on the answering machine. It was an employee from the Red Cross informing me that we should probably
She said bombings. No one really knew was was going on exactly at the time this Red Cross employee called my home. Well, you probably know the story from there. I think I called or used America Online to make sure my friends were OK. Some of them travel a lot, and at least one of them studied on the East Coast at the time.
Well, if you were wondering, my blood did have its judgment day at the Red Cross. I also wrote a decent check (for a starving college student) to donate to the Red Cross. Anyhow, the results came in weeks later, and my blood was good to go -- at least it was good to go, ten years ago. (I'm fairly confident it's good these days as well -- fairly confident.)
Sometime between September and November of 2001, my family got our first DVD player. On November 11th, I got ridiculously sick from a bad cold or flu. I remember this because on that day, I -- arbitrarily, for the hell of it, of course -- vowed to no longer use over-the-counter medicine whenever I got sick or got allergies. I essentially gave myself medical hell for no good reason, yes, for the hell of it. (Fast-forward to 2004, I had enough of my drug boycott and took a Sudafed. It was a freakin' relief.)
I remember I proto-blogged (wrote and manually published HTML web pages) about my thoughts and feelings for several months after September 11th, 2001. These thoughts from a 19 or 20 year old might be floating somewhere in cyberspace and/or in my CD-R/DVD+R/external hard drive, data-hoarding archives. But that's it, I guess.