My life is slowly but surely returning to normal. Normal is relative because normal now means something different, something I'll have to get used to. I'm not sure if my life will ever return to what it used to be.

I wonder if I'll always compartmentalize my life into "before the tragedy" and "after the tragedy" like I do now...?

I realized last night that I have no idea what the term 'war' means. It's something my generation isn't familiar with. Sure, I've read about war in history books and I know it means destruction... but it's something I've never experienced personally, thank heavens.

What does war mean to me? How will my life be affected? Are American cities in danger? Should I be building a bomb shelter?

For the past two nights, I've been having nightmares. Nightmares involving betrayal and fear and killing.

Big accomplishment yesterday, though: I didn't shed one tear. The pain is subsiding little by little.

It helps that I'm getting back into a routine. A routine from my past, before 11 Sep 2001. I went to ballet last night, my first time in four weeks. It kicked my butt. I'm sore. However, I'm not sure if I'm sore from ballet or from yoga the night before last.

M picked me up from ballet and we went to our favorite restaurant, Eliza's. Then we went to Walgreens. He bought People and Time magazines; I bought lovely aquamarine colored nail polish called "Ocean Blue".

I laughed to myself this morning on the bus. We passed a laundromat on Hayes Street called "Don't Call It Frisco". I think it's new because I hadn't seen it before... and I usually take the 21 to BART. Long ago, I dated this guy from Georgia who called San Francisco "Frisco". It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Apparently, everyone here feels the same way.

Happy weekend, dear diary!