It was really our own safeguard, our bunker. And when I refer to "us" in the plural, I mean only me. It's because I do feel like I have a group cause, a cause which would serve the community if only the community would take it up.
And then there was that infernal cat, Noni, who visited me via the side window. She clawed and scratched one day until I was forced to get up and check what the fuss was all about. It didn't take me long as I am highly nervous. The claw of a twig scraping on the window is enough to get me roused.
I sat down at the computer and tried to type out my script but the light wouldn't come up. I couldn't see the screen. Everything was darkened. Even the numous wall switches and one overhead didn't seem to work. The blinds proved so heavy I couldn't bring them up They were made of fireman's blankets or something, at least not anything that you could raise by hand. They were of a dense inky blue or black material, which let in only a shudder of light, because we didn't want to be identified. That was not my idea, I just worked in the corridor, the frustrating corridor because everything had to be done according to a particular time and sometimes electricity was not there when you needed it. Or maybe it was something more sinister. I could have been losing my touch -- the capacity to switch on the lights.
Noni only turned up to notice the world going forward in a multitude of revs, then reversing, then crashing in on itself. A witness is sometimes necessary -- which doesn't detract from anything, least of all the wait. I didn't know how long I'd been here, because they kept putting me to more tasks. And when I failed, they would rap my hands and sigh like a long, maddening wind. They'd make me face myself again, and sometimes there were horrors in the middle of the night.
She kept telling me she could only tell me their side of the story, not mine. Mine was too long and dizzying to tell. Besides, she had other things to do because her husband had wandered off and couldn't be found. I was a weight on her time. But I had only asked her to extend my apologies for things beyond my control. What I got was the other side: the heavy disappointment; the sense that I had failed. I'm losing my touch -- my facility with light switches. But who's to know where the problem really lies. I must work on it with my highest resolve and all the energy that I could muster, even though I found the weight of failure to exact its own revenge; subtraction of my energies. She could have at least have not flown off the handle at me. I was not somehow responsible for anybody wandering off.
I felt I was making a breakthrough with the new model for a tumbulation. It was through a gathering of will and not through direct access to computers this time. Noni just arched and stretched. I hated this life more than she knew, but neither of us could do anything about it.
And then there was that infernal cat, Noni, who visited me via the side window. She clawed and scratched one day until I was forced to get up and check what the fuss was all about. It didn't take me long as I am highly nervous. The claw of a twig scraping on the window is enough to get me roused.
I sat down at the computer and tried to type out my script but the light wouldn't come up. I couldn't see the screen. Everything was darkened. Even the numous wall switches and one overhead didn't seem to work. The blinds proved so heavy I couldn't bring them up They were made of fireman's blankets or something, at least not anything that you could raise by hand. They were of a dense inky blue or black material, which let in only a shudder of light, because we didn't want to be identified. That was not my idea, I just worked in the corridor, the frustrating corridor because everything had to be done according to a particular time and sometimes electricity was not there when you needed it. Or maybe it was something more sinister. I could have been losing my touch -- the capacity to switch on the lights.
Noni only turned up to notice the world going forward in a multitude of revs, then reversing, then crashing in on itself. A witness is sometimes necessary -- which doesn't detract from anything, least of all the wait. I didn't know how long I'd been here, because they kept putting me to more tasks. And when I failed, they would rap my hands and sigh like a long, maddening wind. They'd make me face myself again, and sometimes there were horrors in the middle of the night.
She kept telling me she could only tell me their side of the story, not mine. Mine was too long and dizzying to tell. Besides, she had other things to do because her husband had wandered off and couldn't be found. I was a weight on her time. But I had only asked her to extend my apologies for things beyond my control. What I got was the other side: the heavy disappointment; the sense that I had failed. I'm losing my touch -- my facility with light switches. But who's to know where the problem really lies. I must work on it with my highest resolve and all the energy that I could muster, even though I found the weight of failure to exact its own revenge; subtraction of my energies. She could have at least have not flown off the handle at me. I was not somehow responsible for anybody wandering off.
I felt I was making a breakthrough with the new model for a tumbulation. It was through a gathering of will and not through direct access to computers this time. Noni just arched and stretched. I hated this life more than she knew, but neither of us could do anything about it.
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