Dreams of falling buildings

Originally published at the normality factor. You can comment here or there.

Much of my dreams last night were disjointed, but there are a few parts I still remember.

I was trying to get Joe to help me with something, but other things kept coming up and he never got around to it.  A corner of a medium-tall building fell down, collapsed straight down, and I was trying to get through the rubble to see if anyone was still alive or could be rescued.  I screamed at Joe to help – screamed because he was standing waaaaaaaay over there, I was not scared or panicked, just focused – but he said he just changed his pants and had to go to work soon, and that if he dug through the rubble, he’d get all dirty.

There was this moment in the dream where I accepted this excuse – albeit grudgingly – and turned and went to work on my own.  I pushed the big slabs of concrete out of the way as much as I could, and remember thinking that while it would have been easier with someone’s help, I was capable of doing it on my own.  And then I realized that “doing it on my own” also meant going a lot slower, and someone was bound to die caught in the rubble if I didn’t move faster.

Then the excuse that he gave me clicked in my head, and I started getting angry.  Why didn’t he just tell the guys at work how he’d gotten dirty?  They all wear casual clothes anyway, and they do charity work and help people in the community, what the hell?

I managed to find some people in the rubble, no one was hurt too bad, but they’d all been on the upper floors and somehow that had helped them survive.  The chances of there being people in the lower floors still living were slim.  (This statement was a point of great mirth for a few spectators, none of whom actually helped, although there were some people who had started to help a little.)  I was struggling with being angry and still trying to get people out of the remains of the building, and there was a moment when I was stuck with the impulse to use my growing anger to motivate my muscles to work harder, but then another thought pushed that one out, reasoning that things done in anger are fueled by fear and are therefore inherently flawed.

I had to take a deep breath and just keep working, but in the back of my head, I was still hurt and angry that so few people were helping.

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