They bombed the London Underground. Of course, no one knows conclusively who “they” is, but you can bet your spotted dick it ain’t the Boy Scouts. And, really, does it matter? Terrorists are terrorists, whether they be Al Qaeda, the IRA or PETA. And needless, senseless violence freaks me out.

September 11th was easily the worst day I have ever lived through. The panic, uncertainty, confusion, and utter fright stayed with me for weeks afterward. To this day, I still can’t watch footage of the Towers being hit. I literally ran 12 blocks to get to Peat’s office from my own, ran as if my life depended on it, because I thought it did, because I thought I had lost my parents who were in the WTC that morning (they made it out okay, but many of their friends and coworkers didn’t – they attended several funerals in the following weeks). I ran down Broadway with a clear line of vision to what was left of the Towers, the smoke, the chaos. Peat and I later spent hours on the subway trying to get home. We could still see the smoke from our apartment building in Brooklyn, and could smell it days later. We spent the week huddled on the couch in front of the TV, watching CNN and eating Doritos and cookies. And clutching each other tight.

We did the same thing this morning: clutched each other tight in front of the TV, but this time, the attacks had happened across the Pond. The Tube had been bombed, causing unknown casualties and deaths. In fact, they’re still trying to count as I’m writing this. The fact that it happened in England did nothing to curb that familiar feeling of panic, uncertainty, confusion and fright. I felt it for them, and I felt it again for us. I felt it for the entire world, because no one is safe from maniacs if they’re determined enough.

Peat and I waited until 9am to get on the subway today, because the thought of being underground during the height of rush hour paralyzed me. And we rode together, which is something we don’t get to do anymore since we leave the house at different times. I put my arm through his and we read an X-men comic together. It would have been really nice if I hadn’t been trying to swallow my fear and sadness and anger the whole time.

I feel for the people of London, and my thoughts are with them. I spent a semester there once, and the city laid claim to my heart while I was there. And my heart goes out to everyone there now – the family I stayed with, the teachers I studied with, our friend Dave (who, thankfully, emailed Peat to say he was alright), and everyone else living and working there. London’s a tough town – it’s survived plagues, the Great Fire, the Blitz, and it will survive this.

But I’m still freaked.