Nine-Eleven and boar experts

It's the last day of National Suicide Prevention Week. You're supposed to write, paint, or draw "LOVE" on your wrist as a sign of recognition. It's also the anniversary of the calamity that occurred in 2001. I was but a naive child when it happened. No memories at all.
Nine-eleven is also the emergency call number in America. I wonder if there's any significance in that.

My dad was watching the instant streaming for "Lost: Season 1" on Netflix, and he had his earphones on and said something that sounded like "Boar experts." So then I started to imagine things, like if I were ever a flight attendant, I would be amazed at all the different sorts of people that went on the plane. "Like that guy over there... He might be a boar expert." Or other scenarios in which you might meet a boar expert. I dunno. I'm sleepy.

I've been sick the past few days, though I think I'm better. It's random, these fits of fever.
I still needa write about the Potter Park. Remind me later.