as I sit here futily in front of my computer.
She's driving home. She has a not-terrible car, but no big deal
-- she hasn't been in this career for very long. It was one of
those life-was-going-the-wrong-direction moments that had brought
her to this point. She had decided to think about herself for a
change. What other people wanted was not going to be important
right then. In all fairness, She has spent a very long time in
the unrewarded service of others.
Despite her resolve, she couldn't help occasionally lapsing back
into her old ways; noticing someone. Touching them. But, then
she'd withdraw, remembering herself.
* * *
So here I am. I don't do anything anymore. I get the occasional
idea, but it's always fleeting. Instead of spending my time
thinking and writing, I spend it devising ways to avoid thought,
to just blast my frontal lobes into submission. SHIT! It's ten
o'clock; I missed x-files.
* * *
She parks on the street. Ss she steps out of the car, she is
greeted by the warm air that eluded her back east. She can't
taste the salt in the air anymore, but the rusty dings on the car
show it's still there.
She walks over to her little house. One bedroom. A living room.
Totally sufficient, no kids, no friends. Besides, her last place
was an orb bound within a walnut, but it was enough at the time.
She loves her new job. She is an operator. You know, like press
zero and she answers. She loves it. She gets to talk to people
now. She never got to talk directly to people in her old job.
And she really doesn't have to doo anything for them now. These
new people have their own initiative; at least enough to be making
a phone call.
She throws her coat on the arm of the love seat (there isn't
enough room in the place for a full sofa) and drops beside it.
She flips on the TV. She doesn't really watch. She knows all
these stories, even the commercials. She just likes being totally
passive and letting things wash over her. She's not tired. But
she's pretending to be. It's all part of this new life.
The TV gets hazy for a moment, then the image fuzzes out
completely. She cocks one eyebrow at the screen. She then looks
at the cable box closing her eyes a bit. The image pops back up,
but not just that channel. All the channels were now flowing
through the screen. Some kid down at the cable company had the
idea to mix all the frequencies down onto the one test-pattern
channel. This gibberish didn't bother Nio (what her boss called
her, unable to handle the whole name). She could sort through the
jumble if she wanted, but it was even better that she could have
everything wash over her at once. If she had frontal lobes,
they'd be frying.
* * *
What bugs me the most is that I am losing the recollection of when
I did accomplish things. I know I did, I still have some of the
produce around.
I remember that I was never THAT productive, though. I was like
the last person in line for inspiration, and the clerk was getting
board by the time I got there. I got some stuff some times, but
oftener it was like a brush off from a beurocrat who was sure she
wasn't going to ever get fired.
But now it seems like even that office has closed.
* * *
The phone in the tiny, little kitchen was ringing. Nio looked
toward visibly annoyed. She had never plugged it in; never had
she wanted to be called by anyone on a personal level -- she
wasn't ready for that. None the less, the phone had been ringing
constantly for several days.
She answered it annoyed. "What?!?"
"We're so sorry that we umm... fired you. Please, please come
back"
"Wow, didn't even make a little chit-chat today. Just straight to
the begging. Still afraid the world is becoming a terrible
place?"
"You know, you never did your job so well, Nio. But your presence
was enough to keep things going. Everything has stopped. Without
inspiration being doled out, people are stuck trying to use their
own wit. It isn't very pleasant. The stock is falling."
"Did I say no yesterday?"
"Yes"
"Did you imagine that I'd say yes today?"
"Well..."
"OF COURSE NOT!!! You've never imagined shit!!! I'm not going
back. Find someone else."
"someone else? we never thought of--" Nio slammed down the
phone.
She stood there for a moment, then smiled. She went to the fridge
and got a pint of Ben&Jerry's and a spoon. She happily returned
to the chaos coming from the TV. The kid at the station had been
fired by now.
* * *
I keep pressing nine instead of six when I hang up on voice mail.
I've only received one message in the past week. I keep hearing
it over and over because I press the wrong button each time I hang
up. Six deletes old messages. Nine apparently doesn't. This
message that I've heard ten times a day for the last week is
Stacie from Houston calling about some emergency. She says she's
frustrated and needs me to call and talk dirty to her. The first
time I heard it, I found her number but then realized I had no
idea what to say. The message bugs me every time I hear it
because I still can't think of anything. That's why Stacie is
special. Of all my short comings, my loins don't often bother me.
I usually don't mind being asexual. I'm working on how to
reproduce by self-division.
Hey, the phone is ringing.
"Hello. What? No, I have no idea who you are. What do you mean
of course I don-- a job, what kind of job?"
(
geocities.com/soho)