Entropy's a bitch, ain't it? Given enough time, everything in the universe will lose its will to be motile and will come to rest, just begging for another jolt to set everything going again. Patience, grasshopper.
And then, after it's all cold and silent and lifeless, the death day of the universe will be an excuse for someone, somewhere, to throw a party and have the grandkids over, to barbecue on the deck and pick the aluminum-foil wrapped ears of corn from the grill with quick fingers and muttered curses. It'll be a day for someone to try to sell somebody else a new car, or aluminum siding, or fireworks and sparklers. It'll mean something then, something personal and relaxing and sweet, with only grandpa sitting in the corner and complaining about how nobody remembers...whatever it was. It'll be personal again.
But until then, I have to sit here, inundated with bullshit that, five years after the fact, is wearing thin. Its momentum is frightening. We have to wait to be allowed to forget so we can make it mean something again. And until that happens, until September 11th can come and go without somebody reminding me of my sacrifice and my courage (I was in New York. I lost nothing, saved no one and used all my courage on myself) I'll wait, patiently, to be invited over to a backyard somewhere to play kick the can with the kids.
Until then: Fuck off. Leave me and my memory alone.