Entries from July 2007 ↓

Last night I dreamt that Dustin and I were pulling up in front of “home” (which turned out to be a huge Victorian) and saw, on the porch, a little girl ringing the doorbell in frustration. We realized that it was Halloween, and that we had forgotten to buy candy. I felt horrible, since we’d forgotten and left the lights on, so I ran up the stairs to give her a green popsicle that I had with me. Dustin left to grab some candy so we’d be prepared for the rest of the night. I’d no sooner gotten to the porch, when I heard a horrible sawing sound issuing from the basement. The girl and I looked at each other in terror, and I said, “We have to get into the shelter of the house.”

She looked torn, as did her brother, who seemed to be with us now, and said, “We’re not allowed to go into stranger’s houses.”

“Quite right,” I said briskly, “but these are extenuating circumstances.” They were still hesitating, when we saw three enormous monsters climbing up the stairs. We all ran into the house.

For some reason the door was really heavy, and I could only get an inside, flimsy one close, without locking it. I leaned against it to keep the monsters out. “I’m not sure how long I can hold it,” I gasped. There were two another adults there, someone who was sort-of-Dustin and sort-of-not and a women who was fretting about packing. She kept insisting that the children put their shoes into the suitcase in the correct order (Because evidently they lived there, now.). The man passed me my “wand,” but it snapped, since it was made out of a shishkahbob skewer. I called that I needed another, more sturdy one — why not a knitting needle. My plan was to hold the door for as long as I could, while the others got the children out.

As I slumped against the door, I contemplated death calmly, and was sure that it was nothing that “Miss Julia Edwards” couldn’t handle. (Not sure why that was my name.) However, I could feel the door starting to open in, despite my best efforts, and the children were still there. In a last effort, I stuck my white nylon 10-inch needle through the mail slot, not sure what spell I was trying to cast. Suddenly there was a flash of white light, and the three monsters turned into a frog, an otter and a duck. A river began to form in the driveway, washing them away. They managed to call, before they disappeared, “We’ll be back!”

“Get in line,” I retorted. Then, turning to the rest of the people in the house I asked, “Or should I have said, ‘take a number’?”

I woke up this morning mumbling that I hadn’t finished my Charms homework. Dustin insisted that I had to wake up and go to work and I said, “Work? Have I been expelled?”

What makes me “me”? People often implicitly embrace a concept of true self, without shaking it out for inspection. How much can I decide who I am? Is it an open slate? I think that most of us can reject that — in whatever combination you wish to give them credit, we can all agree that your biological family and your upbringing do contribute to who you are. But what about who you can be? As adults, how much choice do we have, not only over our actions, but who we “are”? I think that often we revert back to a comfortable essentialist statements – “I’m not a creative person.” “I rub people the wrong way.” “I wish it was, but that’s just not me.” But how much is who we are in our conscious control?  Joining the frenzy of Potter-mania in preparation for the 7th book, I was struck in a new way by the Sorting Hat. It decided, without input from the individual, what house you belonged in — what your traits at that point most strongly pointed you to. However, Harry was also able to consciously influence where his future direction went — the hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, but he wanted to be in Gryffindor. He decided a personality direction. From what already him, he chose a path. As the books progress, he struggles with this point repeatedly, questioning the Sorting Hat about whether he really does belong. Has he violated some inherent identity, some destiny? The hat maintains that he would have done well in Slytherin, but later, Dumbledore points out that it’s the choices you make that make you who you are. Interesting view, from a world with prophesies and a “chosen one.” 

So back in real life, how much do you decide who you are? What’s important in making you who you are? Is it your social group identity? Is it your values? Your beliefs? Your actions? Can you have multiple social identities and still be true to your “self”? 

I think that we’re usually happy to be Not Dead, but today I’m more aware of it than most days. Yesterday was quite exciting. Too exciting. In fact, enough to make me want to give up on excitement for quite some time.

Yesterday morning started with spectacular flashes of light (though not green) and booming thunder. On the way to the subway for work I waded through water swirling around my ankles on the street. Other people faced an even worse commute than I did. (Photos below curtesy of co-worker’s father.)

Fortunately, the storm had let up by the time I was leaving work. I’d shut my computer down, and stopped by my co-worker’s desk on my way out to hear about what a bad week she’d been having when the business director popped out of his office, agitated and wanting to know what was going on. When he mentioned it, I became aware of the commotion down the hall, that I’d been tuning out. (The entertainment dept. are down there. They make a lot of noise. Routinely.)

One of the assistants came down the hall, saying that she’d looked out the window by her desk and the building next to us was collapsing. Other people came down the hall, confused, with murmers about explosions and building collapses. The business director darted here and there shouting to stay calm, not to panick, not to run.

One of my co-workers told the person she was on chat with “I have to go.” Him: “Why?” Her: “I think the building next to us exploded.” Another shut down her computer and gathered her stuff. My boss’ office door was closed — she was on a conference call. I knocked on her door and said, “Excuse me. I hate to interupt, but we need to leave the building. I believe that the building next to us is collapsing.” 

The elevators were locked down, so we all headed down the stairs from the 16th floor. I was glad that I hadn’t moved to my new office on the 38th floor yet. We could feel a deep rumbling that sounded like any number of buildings were coming down. One of my co-workers reminded us to hold the hand rails, in case the building power went out. That was around the 10th floor when I realized, “Hey, this could be something really serious. This could be something really horrible.”

Once downstairs an associate found us who was having a panic attack, reliving her experience from 9/11. She said it looked and felt just like it. No one could get through on cell phones. We walked west, away from the MetLife building, away from the smoke, steam, debris. We had to brush dirty stuff off our clothes (Which contained asbestos, I later found out. Great.).

When we got to Times Square we parted ways. One co-worker and I going to visit Auntie at her office, then going on to get dinner. We eventually found out that it was caused by a steam pipe. Last count I read, over 40 people were injured. The whole experience was a sobering reminding that we’re all a little afraid, working here in a landmark building. I even joke about it — “I’m going to die first if there’s another attack.” I don’t think that I will any more. That was a little too close.

Anyway, that’s why today I’m glad to be Not Dead.

Still here. [Checks.] Yup, still around.

I’ve been…

• knitting (maybe some time I’ll put up photos)
• working (three weeks left on this job)
• walking (when the weather doesn’t make me melt — sometimes when it does)
• watching Dr. Who (new episode obsession)
• visiting with sister (yay for Sarah visits)
• reading (trying to re-read all of the Harry Potter books before the 7th comes out)
• pining (for trees and air and green and coasts that are not beaches)
• thinking (about life, future directions, being a grown-up)
• sleeping (changes make me sleep a lot)
• soaking in NY (times, they are a changin’)