Saturday, 7 April 2007

Stuck in the Tube

I used to live in a palace worth 12 thousand million Lindens. All rooms faced north and the sun would never set in my little empire cos I had natural light lamps everywhere, even in the dungeon, so my sexual slaves wouldn't suffer from seasonal affective disorder. My closest neighbour was a windmill 10 miles south so I felt alone and vulnerable. I read too many psychology books and was convinced the only way to find happiness was to live in a community, with cats and juggling hippies, so I packed up and moved to Sanford.

Now I am in this 6 meters square room and my clothes fall over my head every time I sneeze, but I'm happy cos I belong. I look out of the window and smile at the hippies. They shout "come Debbie, come enjoy the sun!" but I stay in, all naked apart from my mink coat, shinny leather boots and a glass of red wine.

I glued some bubble wrap on my door and sometimes hippies on acid come and pop the bubbles, laughing hysterically, and I laugh with them, popping my own personal bubbles inside my room with the heels of my leather boots. When it happens we connect and feel like one.

Twice a month we have meetings but I never go. I don't really agree on the method used to resolve issues. Persuasion, power of rhetoric, they all imply you are a very articulate person. I'm not articulate. I'm not gonna come down to groan at them like Chewy and even if I could express myself as well as a well-spoken public-school-eco-wacko I know deep inside they are up for themselves, like any other ordinary homo sapiens.

But they are quite keen to save the world (sic) so we are testing these new zero-carbon-emission boilers that burn wooden pellets. The system is so new nobody in the UK has it. It's the first time the company installs them boilers so, guess what, they didn't work for a month and a half. I froze to death in my little box, damning everyone, casting spells on all eco officers. We need to clean them once a week so guess what? Hahaha, yes. They are not sufficiently clean so the pellets get stuck in the tube and die.

I sometimes wonder if I wish to get stuck in the tube and die with them, or if I could maybe stick the officers in the tube with the pellets, but in the end I entertain myself imagining I'm stuck in the tube with someone interesting and the grief fades away.

There's a house meeting next week and I'm coming, but I won't say a word.

7 comments:

La Sirena said...

You have a fine mind, Ms. P.

Any story in which bubble wrap connects us is real truth with a capital cup of tea.

I'm also secretly relieved that I'm not the only one who lolls around the house naked, drinking wine and waving at the neighbors.
It's really one of the main reasons I get out of bed each morning.

Paulette said...

Oh babes, you made my day with your comment :)

Lx said...

missiles and bubble wrap.
my favorite combination.
and i don't know how that came about
from your post.
synapses not connecting properly.
(i love your web log; linked her via "Realgem"--another fave)

Paulette said...

Hey LX, Mike recommended me your blog too, and it rocks.

Lx said...

oh, thank you for reading.

dave bones said...

Damn those blasted hippies. Don't talk to them. You'll only encourage them. Dress in the bubble wrap and drink wine. You are more articulate than all of them no?

Anonymous said...

blog me blog me,
pretend that you blog me,

loo me loo me,

go on and loo me,

i dont care anything about you.

chorus: ('nything 'bout you, 'nything 'bout you)

M(A)