It's the fifth anniversary of that day that will live in infamy. I feel extraordinarily empty. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. I've spent the last half-decade intermittently paralyzed by circumstances that predated the World Trade Center's destruction, but which ended up being hopelessly jumbled together with its wake. I think it's time to move on. What that realization entails is still a dim blur on the horizon of possibility. But I need to stop pretending that the urge is a passing fancy.