My Phallic North Star

The first time I went to my office, Alec was with me, so I mostly followed him.  Today I’m on my own.  I know this getting-lost-and-finding-my-way business is beginning to seem like the theme of the week, but it is a part of my daily life.  It’s easy to underestimate the amount of mental and psychic energy you need to expend being in a different place and a different culture—hearing and reading a different language, the different sense of personal space (it’s smaller here), remembering to push the green button on the metro doors so that they open (they don’t open automatically, so you can either watch a train pass you right by, or miss your stop if you’re not quick enough).

Anyway, I remember one thing Alec had told me on my first trek in:  walk toward the cucumber building.  Well, that’s what the kids call it, but there are other, perhaps more fitting monikers.  Use your imagination.  It works, I get there just fine.  I spend the morning reading a tenure dossier, which is a decent way to limber up my mind for intellectual thought again.

Tonight Alec is the family rep at the PTA cocktail party; given that we went out on Monday night, we elect not to traumatize the kids with the canguro again when they are still recovering from the last time.