“Heroism, the Casucasian mountaineers say, is endurance for one moment more.” — George Kennan
I think now that the terrorist attacks have affected me more than I was willing to think. I started my new job today and I just found it difficult to deal with the ever-cheerfulness of the group. I found it hard to even go. I found it hard to go to sleep last night. I gave myself umpteen peptalks about how I really need to get a paying job and regain some independence and security. I made a promise to myself that I would stay at the job for a week.
At ten o’clock I almost left. actually I almost turned tail and left when they “welcomed” us into the room where we were first meeting. I felt like a sullen cranky outsider. The only woman other than myself and the trainer is the manager. When she told me how I was the only “girl” and how they had really wanted to have a better mix…. well. I stayed in my seat and mentioned to my neighbor that I had worked in a print shop with all guys and I wasn’t afraid of them. For the record, I’m not a “girl.” I’m a woman.
Ron’s going back to the city sometime this week after having a go-around with his office about arranging the coverage of his hours in order to go. As I said to him tonight, on day 7 there are no heroes. The people still working are not flush with the excitement or the anticipation of the great rescue. There are only people dedicated to finding and recovering whatever remains there are in that pile of rubble, so they may be returned to their families and afforded a dignified end. there is no glory there. The conditions are not exciting. There is no adrenaline rush generated by the stench of bodies.
