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commonplaceI was eighteen when the Great Catastrophe happened, in the spring of my senior year of high school.
I can be glad that it was so late, because of how I spent my childhood. Nearly every summer meant a trip to Disneyland; I flew to New York for a wedding, so I got to see Manhattan before the floods. I've been to most of the southeastern states, to Pennsylvania and Delaware, even to Cancun and the Bahamas. I toured a college in Texas. But I never made it to Europe. Yes, I got to go places and see things, but I also have a real idea of how much smaller the world became.
It scares me sometimes, to think about how different my life would be if the Catastrophe happened six months or a year later. UCLA was my first-choice school, and I'd already been admitted on early decision. I got my degree in history at UC Berkeley because I didn't want to think about the present - I had been planning on majoring in fashion, daydreaming about clothing the stars, traveling to Paris and Milan every spring.
And then, within the space of two weeks, everything I'd hoped for was gone. Los Angeles was a shining crater. Manhattan was under water. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City - gone. Travel, trade, even communication with the East Coast became impossible. We were five terrified cities clustered on the edge of the country, all alone.
The implant settled me, as it was meant to. My dreams seemed particularly impractical with it in place, and I was able to focus on my studies. History didn't promise to be a terribly lucrative degree, but I didn't mind teaching, and it was interesting, anyway. There was nothing I could do about the rest of the world, so there wasn't much point in worrying about it. Ballentyne would save us, somehow, keep the lights on and the water running.
I can be glad that it was so late, because of how I spent my childhood. Nearly every summer meant a trip to Disneyland; I flew to New York for a wedding, so I got to see Manhattan before the floods. I've been to most of the southeastern states, to Pennsylvania and Delaware, even to Cancun and the Bahamas. I toured a college in Texas. But I never made it to Europe. Yes, I got to go places and see things, but I also have a real idea of how much smaller the world became.
It scares me sometimes, to think about how different my life would be if the Catastrophe happened six months or a year later. UCLA was my first-choice school, and I'd already been admitted on early decision. I got my degree in history at UC Berkeley because I didn't want to think about the present - I had been planning on majoring in fashion, daydreaming about clothing the stars, traveling to Paris and Milan every spring.
And then, within the space of two weeks, everything I'd hoped for was gone. Los Angeles was a shining crater. Manhattan was under water. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City - gone. Travel, trade, even communication with the East Coast became impossible. We were five terrified cities clustered on the edge of the country, all alone.
The implant settled me, as it was meant to. My dreams seemed particularly impractical with it in place, and I was able to focus on my studies. History didn't promise to be a terribly lucrative degree, but I didn't mind teaching, and it was interesting, anyway. There was nothing I could do about the rest of the world, so there wasn't much point in worrying about it. Ballentyne would save us, somehow, keep the lights on and the water running.
(no subject)
11/3/11 04:48 (UTC)