strange radiation: the pool of radiance archive
Adventures with an unreliable narrator.
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Dec 29 06: lightbulb
So I’ve had this cell phone for months—bought it back in Chicago during the Games. And I still find myself startled every now and then by the frenzy of beepity-beepity-beepity when I get a text message.
It was not until yesterday that I realized that the phone’s message alert was Morse code for S-M-S. Ha!
Dec 27 06: the prodigal returns
I was hauling myself out of bed when the doorman buzzed up. She was here, he said. I pulled on yesterday’s chinos from their customary heap by the bed, and ran out into the hall to mash the elevator buttons.
I never thought she’d come back, but there she was in the lobby of my apartment building. She didn’t say anything. She kept silent all the way up to the thirteenth floor, and when she slumped down in the rickety wooden chair in my bedroom she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“So where did you go?”
No response. I started going through her pockets, looking for the things of mine I knew she’d had on her when we parted company. Pretty much all of it was still there, although I’d swear she was carrying my electric razor last time I saw her. I found a scrap of paper that suggested she’d been searched by some Fed along the way. Somewhere out there I think there’s an agent with a real smooth face. On the other hand, she did have my knitting bag. If she’d lost the knitting there would have been real trouble.
“Good to have you back, baby,” I said. She still didn’t say anything. “I gotta get to the office now,” I said, as I slid her into her usual spot under the bed. “You know how it is. But we can talk tonight.”
She didn’t say anything, but I thought I could hear her sniffle gently. Fine. For now, the dust bunnies could keep her company. I had to get to work.
I put on my coat and headed for the door.
Dec 26 06: today’s expression of barely contained fury
I have returned to the city, courtesy of US Airways. Also courtesy of US Airways, I have returned to the city without my suitcase. Based on nothing more than the generally useless nature of the customer-service folks with whom I’ve dealt thus far, I’m fairly convinced that I’ll never see it again. You know, I can replace most of that stuff: the underwear and socks; the gifts received from family members; even the bite plate, which will set me back a few hundred dollars that I don’t presently have in order to delay the I’m-told-it’s-inevitable loss of my teeth.
But if I’m truly out the sweater I’ve been working on for over a year, and which I had very nearly finished? Bad things will happen.
EDITED: Okay, so the useless automated system that lets you give them the bag’s Locator Number, so that they can tell you that they still haven’t found it? It’s only operational from 8AM until midnight. Despite the fact that I have yet to encounter any indication whatsoever that there are any actual humans staffing the thing in any way whatsoever. Buh?
And furthermore… I used my five hundredth blog post to gripe about this? Fie. It coulda been something witty and/or insightful, but no. It was lost luggage. Fie. I hold US Airways responsible for this, too.
Dec 20 06: thought for the day
The Muse of the Worst Case Scenario, she is not a nice lady. She is not your friend. When she calls, do not pick up the telephone.
Dec 11 06: not dead
Right. Once again the front page of the blog empties out because I’ve been too busy having a life to talk about it. New job good. Unable to say more. Other current themes: yoga, the swim team, chorus rehearsals, travel, holiday shopping and the avoidance thereof, and change. Stay tuned.