I remember.

When the first plane hit the towers in NYC, eight years ago, I knew nothing about it. I didn't even know anything about it until after the second plane had hit. I lived alone in my dorm room, had no television, and had already turned off the radio while I was getting ready for my first class.

The first I knew something really bad had happened was when I got to my first class. Everybody was uneasy, and there were rumors galore, including one that we'd been hit by a nuke. I figured that some kind of an accident had happened, and we'd find out what was going on when the instructor made it to class.

Except he was twenty minutes late. This individual had never been late in the three years I'd known him. Early, yes, but never, ever, late.

I remember thinking, when he told us that two jets had slammed into the towers, and that it looked to be purposeful, but that we were going to discuss A Midsummernight's Dream regardless, that he was one of the strongest men I'd ever known. He, after all, had family in NYC, and couldn't contact them. He did not know, at this point, whether they were alive or dead, and he was going on with class, anyway, despite the fact that no one would have blamed him for sending us all home.

That was the last class that our university held that day. I remember walking back to my dorm room, and how absolutely numb I felt.

And I remember that numbness giving way to a fine, cold, calculating rage.

I still feel that rage, despite eight years (so far) of safety. Unlike our media, I have not forgotten the way I felt that day, hearing what happened. I cannot forget the screams I heard on the radio as the victims in the tower realized that they were going to die, or the horror in the reporter's voice as he described the people beginning to leap out dozens of stories high windows to smash on the pavement below.

I still feel the rage, and it's stoked each time another one of our service men and women are killed, trying to bring freedom and basic human dignity to a people that do not want it, that hate us for having it.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they will eventually attack us on our own soil again. They tried, more than once, while President Bush was in office. I have absolutely no doubt that they will succeed, because Barack Obama doesn't believe they really mean us harm.

At least, that's what he says.

Barack and Michelle Obama hate this country. They hate this country enough that I wouldn't put it past them to permit another attack--and then do nothing besides grovel in apology for being America to those who actually orchestrated the attack.

The people of the United States are complacent, for now. Our politicians have learned that the complacency that they depend on to do to us what they want done is an easily shed complacency. Should President Obama permit us to be attacked again, and have the temerity to do nothing, he will find out first hand how quickly the nation will rise up.

While he and his cronies and his shills have forgotten, we the people of the United States of America, have not forgotten. Nor have we forgiven.

I do not remember September 11, 2001, with grief. I remember it with rage.