TheBanyanTree: Associating Freely

[Monique Colver]

5:51 am. Friday. Ash is sleeping next to me on the couch. This in itself is
a miracle since normally Ash would prefer to be up and about and into
whatever he could find that might interest him. Fortunately, there are
periods of time when even he must rest, and this is good, for it saves me
the indignity of begging him to please be calm for just five minutes. 

It's still dark outside, which is normal for 5:55 am on a Friday. At 6:00 am
the sky will suddenly turn blue, and the sun will be high in the sky, and
the temperature will rise to a perfect 74 degrees.

But that is a lie. At 6:00 am it will still be dark outside, unless there
have been changes overnight to the Natural Order of Things, which is always
a possibility.

Speaking of which, during yesterday morning's attempt to sleep while being
wide awake, I was listening to the radio. There was a quite spirited
discussion about the practice of changing one's name upon marriage, or
leaving it as is, or hyphenating it. Personally, I think it's up to whoever
is doing the changing or not changing, and everyone can make up their own
minds, but there seemed to be much dissension about what was the "right"
thing to do, and if we, as women, are giving up our identity, and if we
change our name does this mean we're buying into the whole "women as
property" thing that we have fought for ages to do away with, and what does
it all really mean? And why should anyone else CARE? 

Hey, if who I am changes because I change my name, I've got bigger problems
to worry about than what other people think. 

Does the Natural Order of Things dictate that I must keep my own name in
order to be my own person? Nah. Besides, it's not as if this name I
currently carry has been mine forever. Just the last ten years or so. Before
that it was something else. Twenty years before that it was something else.
And yes, I'm probably a different person now, after all those name changes.
But that's because my cells keep replacing themselves on a daily basis, not
because I changed my name.

I can make a very compelling argument for a new name being more an indicator
of who I really am than not. I shall do so now. Do a web search on my
current name. There are many entries. Some of them may actually be me. (Not
the xzotic model. Or the athletes. Or the, Good Lord! Does that say what I
think it says? "Daily Boobies?" Asian Models? Hmmm. I apparently ordered
something from Potty Training Concepts. Don't remember that. Oh look, I'm a
VP of Public Relations of the United Black Students at Ryerson . . . oh
wait, not me.) The list goes on and on, and they're mostly not me, though
occasionally I can be found too.

Do a search on my new name. Assuming I have a new name, which I don't
officially yet, but that doesn't mean I haven't started trying it on for
size. And there is only one person who pops up, at least in my search. And
that person is me. No imposters. There is only me. 

For someone with an ego the size of the Grand Canyon, like me, this bodes
well. Who wants to be mixed in with all the others when one can have a name
that is unique?  The marketing possibilities alone are much better, and in
my line of work it's all about marketing.

A name is just a name. If I change it or keep it the same, I'm still who I
am. If it means my husband owns me, well, that is very funny, and I guffaw
with gusto. If it means I've lost my identity, then I must not have had much
of one to begin with, if it can't withstand a simple little name change. I
could call myself Xena, Warrior Princess, but I'll still be me. That,
however, might be a tad bit extreme, though so fitting, don't you think? 

It is now 6:24 am. I had to pause to ask Ash to please stop barking at the
door. There was no reason for his barking, but perhaps he thought he heard
someone somewhere in the Greater Seattle Area move, and he wanted to make
sure he was the first to tell them to pipe down. He's now back on the couch
next to me, sound asleep (or at least pretending to be), and you know what?
To him, my name is totally irrelevant. He couldn't care less what I called
myself, as long as I remember to rub his belly, scritch his ears, and tell
him what a nice boy he is on a regular occasion. There's a dog with his
priorities straight.