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NOTICE: The Itineraries archived below were authored and are copyrighted by Dan Perkins. Please do not reprint, copy or post in other websites without the expressed written consent of the author. Bookmarks to this page are both allowed and encouraged. 01-14-02 (The Middle Man) 01-21-02 (Cupids Cloud) 01-28-02 (The Cave) 02-04-02 (The Long Walk) 02-11-02 02-18-02 (The Strange One) 02-25-02 (In Front of the Past) 03-04-02 ( Misc. Murphy’s Laws) 03-11-02 03-18-02 (Blank Page Statement) 03-25-02 04-01-02 (The Great Flameout) 04-08-02 (The Weed) 04-15-02 (Madam Isadora) 04-22-02 (The Island Journal) 04-29-02 (The Helping Hand) 05-06-02 (The Artifact) 05-13-02 (The Agent) 05-20-02 (The Replacements) 05-27-02 (The Solo) 06-03-02 (The Twelve String & Jesse's Reply) 06-10-02 (The Corvette) 06-17-02 (The Box) 06-24-02 (Five Messages) 07-01-02 (The Flying Twitches) 07-08-02 (Remembering the Dragon Lady) 07-15-02 (Dog Days) 07-22-02 (Baker’s Dozen) 08-05-02 (Exit Stage Right) 08-12-02 (With A Naked Eye) 08-26-02 (Apprentice) 09-02-02 (The Pursuit of Sandy Monet) 09-09-02 (The Voyage of the Day Late) 09-16-02 (Silent Partners) 09-23-02 (To A Different Drum) 09-30-02 (When Court Jesters Retire) 10-01-02 (Paging Dr. Chu & Dale's Reply) 10-14-02 (Luck Runs Cold) 10-21-02 (Jack In The Box) 10-28-02 (An Uncovered Cover-up) 11-25-02 (Safe Cracker) 2-17-03 (Adventures Below the Surface) 2-25-03 (Strong Wheeled) 10-04 (Into The Mystic) 11-14-04 (Pat the Borrower) 11-21-04 (The Screech) 11-28-04 (Tis The Season) 12-12/04 (Happiness is Everything) 12-19-04 (Worry-Warts Workshop) 1-2-05 (Splendid Pudding) 3-20-05(Here's the News)
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The Middle Man
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Cupids Cloud
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The hike seemed to be much longer than it really was, a fact not lost on Andrea as she checked her watch for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She had been on the trail for 11 hours now, having risen before daybreak to watch the sun rise from beyond the mountain that was her destination, and marking its relentless progress across the sky as the heat invaded every pore of her body. The mountain loomed high above her now, the distance covered that day not nearly foreboding as the climb she would now have to make to reach the cave reported to be waiting above. As she shrugged out of her backpack at the foot of the mountain and pulled her climbing gear from inside it, she thought back to the anonymous picture and map she received in the mail that had lead her here to begin with. Pulling that picture from her pack, she again shook her head at the impossibility of it all. There had to be an explanation for what the picture showed, and Andrea was determined to find it. She quickly donned her swiss-seat harness, slung the safety ropes over her shoulder and clipped the tetons and hammer to her waist belt. Darkness had begun to set in, but Andrea couldn't wait another day to reach her final objective and decided the climb could be made in the semi-darkness. She started climbing, quickly scaling the rock face of the mountain but not going so fast that it became too dangerous. Free-climbing alone and in the dark was not something she relished, but there was no turning back now. She climbed at a steady pace, loosing site of the ground below in the inky blackness of night as the twilight hour came and went and the sun gave up it's fight to control the sky, the moon now ruling the heavens. Panic set in momentarily as she thought of the possibility that this was all a hoax and the cave didn't even exist. Or even worse, the contents of the cave didn't exist. But the picture looked too real, too convincing for her to believe otherwise. All of Andreas worries melted away as she reached the plateau shown on the map and saw the cave. She took off the pack she used for climbing and removed the lightweight video camera. This was the moment she had waited for and possibly her claim to fame. As she entered the cave she caught her breath at the sight of the beautiful ancient paintings covering the walls around the opening. Pausing to record this, she consulted the map and saw the chamber she sought was just ahead on her right. She reached the doorway and stopped in her tracks at the sight she was greeted with there on the wall. It defied all logic and possibilities, but there among the paintings of mammoths and mastodons, faded and weathered by time, tucked in between these prehistoric masterpieces, was Dan's Itinerary for the week of January 28th, 2002. Weekly Itinerary __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The shuttle docking sequence appeared to be successful, but as Michelle was about to open the airlock she looked out the viewport and noticed that something was preventing the air-seal from being initiated. A quick check of the computer screen confirmed the faulty union between her spacecraft and the orbiting station, causing her to swear softly. This unforeseen problem was a big one, as she would have to put on a space-rated environment suit and retro-burner pack to clear the obstruction before she could link the two vessels together, as they raced around the globe below at incredible speed. Michelle keyed in the sequence of numbers needed to abort the link-up in progress and pulled the suit from a storage locker. While she enjoyed the weightlessness of space, walking on the exterior of the ship always caused a slight bit of panic when she first started. What if the tether line broke? What if the electro-magnet boots failed? What if the rockets misfired, sending her into space? What if....? She stopped thinking about it, deciding instead to concentrate on positive things. Latching on her helmet, Michelle called the space station and described the malfunction and how she intended to correct it. They agreed that she would have to do the space walk and wished her luck, something that was in rare supply on this mission. As she exited from the shuttle through an auxiliary hatch, she didn't notice the tether line as it wrapped around the hatch control lever. As the hatch closed, the tether was snapped apart. The air-lock she needed to reach was only 20 feet away, but in the vast reaches of space, where the slightest mistake could send you pummeling into the unknown, it seemed to be miles away. She started forward, still not noticing the snapped tether. Moving towards the airlock, Michelle was alerted by a light and alarm noise in her helmet that her suit battery power was dangerously low. Those maintenance crews! The pre-flight log had shown all batteries to be charged, but it now appeared that the log was incorrect. As the main batteries started to fail, the emergency power pack took over, providing power to the life-essential items in her suit but not to the electro-magnets in the boots. As she started to float freely she took comfort in the thought that she was tethered to the ship. Tugging on the line to confirm this, Michelle was dumbfounded to see the snapped end of the tether float lazily past her! As the shock of floating freely in space set in, so did the training she had undergone. Switching on the retro-burners strapped to her back, Michelle crossed the remaining distance to the air-lock and removed the obstruction that seemed to be taped to the ship, placing it in her suits outside compartment. She deftly fired the rockets and floated gently back to the auxiliary hatch where she keyed in the entry sequence and returned to the decompression room. As compression returned, Michelle pulled out the item she had retrieved and looked with wonder and amazement at what she held. She read Dan's Itinerary for the week of February 4th, 2002 and couldn't wait to ask why he insisted on sending them to Nikki this way instead of by e-mail. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The cell block guard manned his station without much thought to the heavy atmosphere of doom that hung in the air like a mist. He knew it was there, had felt it every day since taking this job years ago, but had grown to accept it for what it was, much as he accepted the everyday task of breathing. People seemed to talk quietly on this cell block, giving it the same reverence as one might give a library full of studious researchers. The guard checked his schedule and saw that the Strange One was up today. He felt only the slightest twang of regret about this, having learned long ago to disassociate himself with the prisoners. However this one was different somehow. Most, if not all the detainees on this block, were living their last days on this earth and spent their remaining time looking back at the past, bemoaning the mistakes they'd made and promising to make restitutions to those they'd harmed. The guard had heard it all. Each prisoner had his story to tell. All of them except the Strange One. The guard had tried to find out the conviction that had placed this anomaly in his care. After finding the records sealed and no hope of his supervisors expounding on the subject, the guard had resolved to find out from the prisoner himself. When he approached the man in cell number nine for the first time, he was rather shocked to find that person smiling and humming softly to himself. The prisoner noticed the guard and waved to him as if he was a long lost friend returning from a lengthy journey. Taken aback somewhat, the guard absent-mindedly waved back and continued down the cell block. The calmness and serenity transferred within that wave had washed over the guard like sunshine on a cold day, making him smile without reason. Later the guard decided the prisoner was probably just freaked out being there and the gravity of the situation would hit him later. For the next several weeks the routine was the same. He'd walk to cell number nine with the purpose of talking to the prisoner, only to be waved at and have the feeling of total peace wash over and around him. Soon he noticed that other prisoners were starting to act differently. Some had begun to laugh and talk to each other, actions not normally seen on this cell block. Then one morning he'd walked to that cell, expecting to get the usual wave, only to have the prisoner motion for him to come over to the cell. Without a word, the prisoner handed him a note that simply read, "On the day I leave, all will be made clear to you". The guard started to ask what was to be made clear when the prisoner provided the wave and smile the guard had expected, causing him to smile back and continue past the cell. That was when he started referring to the dweller of cell number nine as the Strange One. Now, as he checked the
schedule, the guard realized that today all would be made clear to him. He
worked with the half-attention you'd expect from a gas station attendant rather
than from a prison guard. The procession of armed escorts, religious council and
legal representation arrived, producing forms for the guard to sign, and as easy
as that the Strange One was processed for his final walk. The guard sat in his
chair as the group went to cell number nine and spoke in hushed tones to the
prisoner. Straining to hear what
was said, the guard was stunned to hear laughter swell from the group as the
prisoner told a joke. The group walked slowly down the cell block and past the
guard, all with a small smile playing at the corners of their mouth. Still
stunned, the guard saw the prisoner move as if in slow motion, his expression
one of acceptance and anticipation as he turned to the guard and waved, sharing
one last smile. As they exited the cell block it was like a candle that provided
all the light and warmth in the world had been blown out, leaving the guard
shivering and confused. He grabbed his keys and went to cell block number nine,
not sure why he was shaking as he unlocked the door. He saw a sheet of paper on
the bunk, folded in half and with his name printed neatly on the outside. The
Strange One knew his name! But how he knew was a mystery. The guard unfolded the
paper and read the sentences printed there. He sat down abruptly on the bunk,
and as he read it again he could only shake his head with wonder at how the
prisoner in cell number nine could possibly have know Dan's Itinerary
for the week of February 18th,
2002. Weekly Itinerary February 18th- 22nd Monday: A good thing to look for when conducting a séance is the appearance of spirits or ghosts floating around. A good thing to look for on a Monday morning is a place to hide and become like a ghost. Last Monday I was greeted at the PM meeting by a gentleman who proceeded to tell us how stressed out we all were and how it was slowly killing us all. Slowly, that is, until the huge heart attack arrives that he predicts. I left that meeting, returned to my office, and felt like a deflated balloon the rest of the day. Strangest pep talk I've ever had...............
Tuesday: In the office again today, but like the weather or a pregnant woman's mood that could change in a hurry. Spring is looming on the horizon and I find myself thinking of beaches and sunny days. Chances are that I'll probably be stuck inside a mall somewhere all summer. And there's a very good likelihood that it won't be on a beach. I don't know what it is about sand stuck between my toes that I like so much.............
Wednesday: I find myself thinking about many things these days, but as always I think about them at times when I'm nowhere near a pencil or computer and the thought finds a way to escape before being recorded for posterity. More often than not it'll be while I'm driving or in the shower (a indication that I'm having clean thoughts?). I've tried to convey these wonderful bits of gray matter meanderings to my wife, but she long ago gave up trying to relate and I find myself looking at the blank expression on her face and giving up. Maybe that's why I inflict these itineraries on my unsuspecting cohorts here at the office...........
Thursday: As I look at the boring calendar on the wall I realize what I miss is the great holidays that were listed in my day timer. I use a palm pilot now and it's very handy, but the vast number of Bank holidays and other such celebrations that we don't know how to celebrate were always fun. I've decided to invent a holiday each week to make life more interesting, starting today, 2/15/02, which is Officially here forth to be known in the office as Teakettle Day! Don't ask me why or how to celebrate it......that's the beauty of it all............
Friday: From time to time I use Friday to vent some steam about whatever has been weighing too heavy on my mind here in the office. This is a dangerous thing to do within this medium and location, not knowing who may ultimately read it, but free thought has to persevere. I guess I haven't made it a secret that the recent firing of a co-worker has me (and I'm sure others) ticked off. It was a wake-up call back to reality for me, having been lulled into the dream world where everyone is in one big, happy family and impervious to bad things. But dark forces hide in our midst, creating dissension and turmoil for no other reason than that they can so always be alert to that. It's always the hardest when you loose a compatriot to friendly (or not so friendly) fire.......... Have a interesting, fun-filled, not so boring, middle of the road, better than most weekend! ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The alarm sounded and everyone went to their assigned locations for the time displacement, their movements as smooth as if choreographed in a musical dance number. The travelers stood motionless in the chamber and closed their eyes as the sub-atomic disassembly process began. It was always a little un-nerving to watch as healthy, live people appeared to melt in front of you, so the Head Master turned away and studied the status screens. The wall behind him had fifteen view screens on it, all tuned in to various broadcasts to monitor any sudden changes. In the event the world became changed for the worse due to re-writing history, there were fail-safe measures the travelers could take to put things back in order. Mainly it would mean going back to before the time they visited and warning themselves not to change anything. The alarm sounded indicating the team was returning and the Head Master hurried to the chamber to get a look at the artifact they were to retrieve after replacing it with the altered item. It would never do to have two items such as this in the same space/time. As he approached the chamber and the door swung open, he realized something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of his scientists, from the smoking chamber walked two chimpanzees! They were wearing the same jumpsuit the travelers had on when they left and one had a piece of paper clutched in his hand. That chimp walked up to the Head Master and held out the document, a sad, forlorn look on his (her?) face. He took the offered artifact and noticed that even though something had transpired to transform his team into primates, they had completed their mission, because this was Dan's original Itinerary for the week of February 25th, 2002. Weekly Itinerary February 25th - March 1st
Monday: Today was supposed to be a plan review day for me, which usually means being sequestered in my office with a pot of coffee and twenty red flair pens as I proceed to make red marks all over the plans. Architects hate this and seem to think I only do it for fun. Nothing is fun about it, which is why plan reviews are to be dreaded and feared. I usually end up with much red ink on my hands, making it look like I've been chewing my fingers. This is great when I go to the grocery store and handle fresh cut beef in front of others. Now that's fun......
Tuesday: In the office today, doing the plan review post-poned from yesterday. There are several reasons to curse while doing this, but I won't go into that. Needless to say I won't be wondering the halls today as I will be in my office trying to find a way to make a noose from a necktie and how to attach it to my ceiling......
Wednesday: Today I'm floating on a sea of clouds as I fly to Stroudsburg, PA. I've been here before, so the excitement just isn't there for me on this trip. I can expect snow, cold wind and probably the flu while gone. I plan to counter this with battery-operated socks and a fur-lined jockstrap........
Thursday: Still in Stroudsburg, PA today. I'll try to think warm fuzzy thoughts as I trudge around in the slush and snow. The hotel I'm at has an indoor pool, so there's a good chance I'll pack my thong speedos and get some swimming in. I've found it's best to do this either late at night or early in the morning due to all the people who wave and tell me I'm number one. All the attention is embarrassing........
Friday: I'll be coming back from Stroudsburg, PA today but not in time to come to work. Rats! You know deep in your heart how I do so love working....hmmmmmmm.......maybe I could come in on Saturday! And Sunday! But wait.....I mainly come to work for the interaction with my fellow workers. Maybe we should ALL come to work this weekend.............. NOT! Have a great weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ -----Back by popular demand!-------- The broadcasting company that has been bringing you Dan's Itinerary is proud to announce the return of Daily Laws. Notorious for his famous law that if something could go wrong, it would, Murphy sparked interest in cynics everywhere, including your faithfully cynical narrator. So, once again enjoy a daily dose of Laws, Principals, Maxims, Rules and Observations. Weekly Itinerary March 4th - 8th Monday: In the office today. Rules of Weather: The more a storm is anticipated, the less the chance of it arriving. Tuesday: In the office today Andersen's Law of Survival for Low-Level Managers: Never be right too often. Wednesday: In the office today Rule for Night-Shift Nurses: A sleeping patient must be awakened to take a sleeping pill. Thursday: In the office today Murphy's Law of Dieting: The first pounds you loose are in areas you didn't want to loose pounds. Friday: In the office today Blair's Observation: The best laid plans of mice and men are usually about equal. Have a nice weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Have you ever seen this in a manual? - This page intentionally left blank - Wait......if this page says it's intentionally left blank, and this sentence was placed here intentionally, then logically it's not only 'not' blank but was intentionally filled with the statement. Maybe it should read "This page intentionally not left blank but would be if not for the statement you're now reading". So there. Weekly Itinerary March 18th - 22nd
Monday: The old gray matter upstairs has been sloshing around lately for want of merciful release, constrained by time limitations and the lack of meaningful subjects to ponder on. Either I don't get out enough or I've been letting the really good stuff slip by unnoticed. March 2002 is very much like March of 2001, full of travel, adventure and the ever present confusion that goes with them both. I'm in the office today, wondering how belly button lint knows to go there.
Tuesday: There's a good chance it'll rain today. That's right, I'm prognosticating rain without so much as looking at The Weather Channel! "But Dan, how do you know?", you ask, (obviously not knowing how I know). Simple....I have to drive to Jefferson Mall in Louisville, KY. and that almost makes it a sure thing. Driving in the rain reminds me of the first time I tried ice skating. I was going too fast and lost control. I knew I wasn't in control of my movement (or speed!) but I was going in the right direction so I just held on and waited until I slowed down enough to be back in control. Sometimes while driving in the rain I wonder if I'm in control or just lucky the road happens to be going the way I'm sliding..........ponderous.....
Wednesday: I'm still at the Jefferson Mall in Louisville, KY today. The last time I visited Kentucky I was listening to the radio and a listener called in and complained about a bland jelly he bought at the store. He said it didn't have any taste at all, left a residue and he didn't understand why in the world the state would allow a terrible tasting jelly like that to be stamped with the state initials KY............
Thursday: 'Here we go, step right up Ladies and Gentlemen, see the one-legged butt-kicker verses the one-armed paper hanger in a winner take nothing 15 round bout of total irrelevancy.' That sums up what the week has probably been like up to this point and if this spring is anything like last spring it gets worse. I've decided there is more than a good chance that I'll develop a split personality to deal with the stress, so if you say Hi here in the office and I look confused, don't worry, it's only the other guy at the controls........
Friday: Sometimes I wonder if people are really aware of how delicate the line is between mundane and interesting. I've sat through a few meetings recently where this line is trampled on, crossed, redrawn and erased entirely as the speaker delves into a tirade of the utmost nonsense. The captive audience is stunned into a lethargic state of unblinking, unhearing non-attention and you can actually see their eyes glaze over as their minds visit some distant place more interesting. I'm in the office today (I hope) trying desperately not to be mundane.......... ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The darkness and freezing cold were the worst part of the Great Flameout (as the catastrophic event was being called) but there were other things about it almost as bad. Scientist and astronomers the world over was taken totally by surprise when it happened, and the public had no warning that the entire future of life on earth was in jeopardy. In fact, some believed the human race, along with the planet itself, was on the cusp of extinction. And what else could they believe.... the sun had finally ran out of fuel and no longer shone in the heavens. It used to be spoken as fact that when the sun finally exhausted itself it would be in the form of a final flare-up, a super nova. Some speculation was that it would turn into a black hole and pull all mass towards it, including the earth. But who would have guessed that it would simply run out of gas? Andrew had these thoughts on his mind along with others as he shuffled into the underground bunker below his house. Originally designed for the war or invasion he always believed would happen, Andrew had dug it deep and supplied it well with everything he and his family would need to survive for 6 months. The Great Flameout had changed things considerably, but survival was pretty much the same regardless of conditions: food, shelter and clothing. He found that all of these things were readily available above ground, but the horror of retrieving them was almost too much to handle. Without heat and light, all vegetation not growing in green houses had frozen and died. Entire countries of people had also frozen to death with only a few surviving. He bundled up daily and went out into the cold darkness in search of additional supplies and other survivors, but usually only found frozen corpses. These were the most disturbing because they were still posed in the same positions as they were when the harsh cold of space invaded the surface, sending the temperature plunging to levels never felt before. All the people he'd known were now and forever statues trapped in an eternal ice-capade. At first fearful of looting mobs of people, Andrew quickly found that the sub-zero conditions weren't ideal for looting, even if there were anyone left to worry about. Knowing that in a war electricity would probably not be available, Andrew had installed a wood-burning stove in the bunker and vented it through a stack to the surface above. Keeping this lit and burning had become a matter of life and death. And he noticed immediately it was almost out. He dropped the load of supplies and quickly dug through the bundle for something to feed the fire. In his bundle was food, some bottled water (or ice, until it thawed) and medicinal supplies, but no wood. In his haste to get back to the bunker, he had forgotten wood! Frantically he looked around the room for anything combustion able to keep the fire going. He was about to give up and go back out for firewood when he remembered the stack of paper in the corner. Paper, like all other man-made items, would someday be as valuable as gold and he hated to use it for fuel, but there was no choice if he wanted to keep the bunker warm and his supplies unfrozen. He went to the paper stack and shuffled through the pages, taking out blanks and setting them aside for future use. He gathered the selected paper and went to the woodstove, barely feeling the heat as it fought the cold for control of the room. Andrew took the first piece of paper and was about to put it into the stove when he stopped and read the sentences printed there. He couldn't believe it! Somehow, Dan had not only known about the Great Flameout before it happened, but had written about it here in his itinerary for the week of April 1st, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary April 1st - April 5th Monday: Sometimes I wonder who, besides the hapless co-workers I inflict my itineraries on, actually reads the slightly off center and sometimes pointless meanderings I jot down. I can see how it would be easy to read into the weekly happenings as I see them and try to place a mental evaluation on my state of mind, something I would greatly advise against. One might even think along the same lines as I and find themselves mesmerized at seeing these thoughts in literary form and be tempted to seek help. Fear not, you're (we're) normal. I'll probably be pondering these thoughts among others as I sit in meeting after meeting in the office today, struggling to keep my eyes and mind open to my surroundings but most likely giving in and adopting that blank stare so prevalent at these gatherings. Tuesday: Today finds me flying to the St. Clair Square Mall in Fairview Heights, Il. This is supposed to be a site inspection combined with a meeting with city officials to discuss the project. I suspect we'll have a meeting to discuss the impending meeting.....you know, a get together where we decide what to talk about when we get together to talk. Interesting enough, we usually end up discussing the things we discussed at the previous meeting, which is.....you guessed it..... what to talk about at the next meeting. This will all fade to irrelevant obscurity the moment we get to Joe's Crab Shack near the mall and stuff ourselves with crabs (the true reason for the trip.....don't tell). Wednesday: I'm still at St. Clair Square today. I wonder....why "Square"? Because it rhymes with Clair? Because some of the buildings are square? Maybe the developer was a square. Maybe they were mathematicians and thought the squared approach was a cool hidden meaning. Maybe it's because you get a square deal there. Maybe I think too much about things beyond my grasp. Just maybe........
Thursday: Back on the chopping block today (a.k.a. EMJ home office) and looking for a way to hold my head high without someone taking it off. I was asked to possibly be out of town today, however today is my 10th wedding anniversary. Ten looonnng years of happiness and bliss, knowing that no matter how screwed up things get, someone else is stuck there with me. Makes me humble to know that. And appreciative. Hope I'm here to celebrate it........ Friday: What we imagine as "order" is merely the prevailing form of chaos. So as I try to get things in order today here in the office, actually I'm just putting the chaos into a directed downward spiral. This attempt has taken many forms.....file folders, project notebooks, memos, palm pilot notifications......the list goes on. At the end of the day, one must look back and be thankful to have survived the chaos without losing ones sense of humor. And next week the big wheel rolls on..... ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The invasion was nothing like what the majority of science fiction writers had always envisioned it would be. No space ships filling the sky. No two-headed monsters consuming the human population for lunch. No mass hysteria or panic or religious upheaval. In fact, the invasion was so serene and uneventful that it would have went unnoticed had Teresa been anywhere else besides her garden that fateful weekend. She had noticed an unusual weed growing in her garden the day after the Leonid meteor shower, and while she didn't find it strange to have weeds (most gardens are afflicted with them at one time or the other) she did find it slightly weird that in only one day this specific weed had grown to a height of six feet. Thinking that this was a weed from hell and not being too far from the truth, though she didn't know it at the time, Teresa grabbed her gloves and hoe and set out to eradicate this invader of her garden. She was about to get the surprise of her life. Teresa approached the weed with a mixed feeling of wonder and awe that it could grow so fast. Actually, the weed was not as unsightly as she thought at first, and she found herself thinking about leaving it alone. Wait! Leave it alone? She was here to rid the garden of it! The thought of leaving it was like shadows on a dusky evening, playing across her mind but never quite staying in one place. She knelt down beside the weed and grabbed the base area, tugging gently to see how deep the roots had managed to go in such a short time. "NO". The word echoed loudly in her head and she spun around quickly to see who had spoken it, but she was still alone. When she turned back around to continue she noticed the weed seemed to be budding! Maybe this wasn't a weed after all, she thought. Maybe she had planted some wildflower seeds by mistake last summer. But a six foot wildflower? That could be a record! The thought that she should water it and protect it as if it was a baby crept up her back and into her mind as softly as a kittens footsteps. Maybe she should have a greenhouse built around it. It would probably take her life savings, but she could manage it. She walked back to her house to start calling contractors about this and as she got further away the thoughts of protecting the weed faded away like the last few notes of a loud song. Build a greenhouse for a weed? What was she thinking? She spun around to go back to the chore she had set out to do and saw the weed moving! Not a movement the wind would create, but actual, direct movement. She rubbed her eyes and still the weed seemed to be purposely moving as if it was attempting to pull it own roots up! Teresa walked back towards the weed and as she got closer she could again feel thoughts alien to her own creeping into her mind. She stopped in front of the weed and formulated a question in her mind. "Are you really a weed?", she thought at it, feeling silly and scared at the same time. "No", came the reply, "I'm not what you think I am. I bring the promise of peaceful life to your kind, and a message", the weed thought back to her. The weed, or what Teresa now knew was in fact not a weed, started moving again and the budding blooms sprang open, revealing the most magnificent, beautiful flowers she had ever seen. She moved closer and inhaled a fragrance unlike anything she had ever smelled. "You must convey the message before you can become complete", the visitor demanded, and Teresa seemed to go into a trance. She picked up a stick and started writing in the dirt, moving in a pattern that from a distance looked like a wild, exotic dance. She wrote in a frenzy, darting back and forth until she finally finished and collapsed beside the weed. That evening her neighbor was returning home when he noticed something in Teresa's yard. Thinking that his dog had drug something into his neighbors garden, he went to investigate. He stopped at the edge of the garden and stared with awe at what he found. All the plants and flowers had been pulled up. That is, all except two of the tallest, most beautiful flowers he had ever seen. They were at the end of the garden like sentries standing guard. A pile of clothes were on the ground beside one of the flowers and there, scratched in the dirt was Dan itinerary for the week of April 8th, 2002. Weekly Itinerary April 8th- 12th
Monday: Suppose you were to wake up one morning and find yourself not in your bed but in a strange land with people all around you yelling in a foreign language. Monday morning meetings are a lot like this, only you can understand some of what people are saying (unfortunately) and hopefully the fact that you're just waking up isn't noticed. I'm in the office today, or at least somewhere around the office, planning the future habitat of shoppers everywhere.......
Tuesday: It was bound to happen that I'd be going back to the Fashion Square Mall in Saginaw, MI. Actually, I'm excited to be going as this was my first solo pre-construction effort with EMJ and I'm finally getting to see the results in person. I plan to run through the mall butt-naked with a bottle of champagne and a big smile to celebrate, so stay tuned to the news today, it may go national...... Wednesday: I'm still in Saginaw, MI today, maybe in jail, maybe hiding in the bushes somewhere (hopefully while fully clothed). The actual purpose of the trip is to re-evaluate the site conditions, but we may go joy riding in the fields if I can get a 4-wheel drive rental. Site inspection entails long, arduous hours of looking at the parking lot. Not something I'd recommend to anyone with a desire to avoid brain cramps and eye strain. If beauty is only skin deep, then ugly pavement is 4" of cracked asphalt. For excitement I'm going to tell the shoppers that we're tearing up all the pavement and planting rows of corn that they'll have to park between......... Thursday: Back in the office today, probably. I sometimes think about the laws of probability and how probable it is that I will never understand them. To guess at what someone will do or the chances of a particular thing happening is an absurd prospect in my opinion. Most often these guesses are based on past events, and we think the past may "probably" repeat itself. Like Eddie Money said, "You can't go back, you know". And I probably wouldn't want to anyway........ Friday: Woo Hoo! Another Friday finds me in the office looking for a reasonable excuse to get out of here early. Many ideals come to mind but this is proving to be more difficult each week. Now that all 12 of my grandparents have passed away and I've donated all 7 of my kidneys, I'm out of reasons. Wait, I just remembered.......I need to go home and check for Radon gas.....yeah.....that's the ticket....radon gas inspection...... Have an interesting, fun-filled weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Maybe it was divine intervention that led me to the strange, poorly lit shop that fateful evening, dear reader. Maybe it was pure chance that put me, your faithful narrator, into the inky swell of darkness I was about to embark on. Always the skeptic about such things as ghosts and other paranormal activity, I was as surprised as if I had just grown another head to find myself ringing the doorbell of Madam Isadora's Occult Boutique. A non-nondescript little house off the beaten track that had seen it's share of changes, it now proclaimed (per the sign in front) to hold the mysteries of the supernatural world and all the answers to questions near and dear to the mortal mans heart. A worthy undertaking in my opinion, but I still doubted Madam Isadora could produce the results claimed in the flyer I had found in my mailbox that very morning. The interesting thing was that she (or someone) had written a message by hand on it urging me to call immediately and to not travel a certain road that day until I did call; a road I would have been on at exactly the time and place a fatal car wreak happened. I had called the number listed to ask the Occult Boutique not to mail me anymore flyers and was put on hold for 3 minutes. As I started to hang up, a woman picked up on the other end and said I should be safe now, then hung up. I didn't know to what the reference was until I passed the wreckage that could've been my car on the same road I was warned away from. Now I was curious...... The door opened and a man of an indeterminable number of centuries old peered out at me. He seemed to be squinting to see me and I slowly waved my hand in front of his face, trying to establish his level of vision. "I can see just fine, young man", he rasped with a voice that reminded me of the sound generated from riding a bike on a gravel road. "Sorry', I replied, "you seemed to be looking right through me." " I WAS looking right through you", he responded, and a chill chased up my spine and settled in the form of a lump in my throat. "Madam Isadora is expecting you", he croaked at me, "follow me". I started to protest, saying that I just wanted to know how anyone knew my schedule or could've predicted the car wreak I had seen, but he had already turned away and was slowly working his way down a musky hallway. I followed, having decided to ride this out and see what happened next. We stopped at a door and he turned his wrinkled, ancient face towards me, fixing me with a stare that froze me in my tracks. "You only have this one chance to turn back", he said, "for once you know the future, the present becomes a place of uncertainty". What a dramatic sales pitch they have, I thought. This would be worth the price of admission, no doubt. "I'll take my chances", I countered, "besides, I don't believe in any of this hogwash, this is just entertainment to me". He smiled at that, and for a brief moment the age seemed to lift from his worn-out, weathered face and I saw a twinkle, an honest to God twinkle, in his eye. "I thought that too, until the Madam showed me different", he beamed, and opened the door. I can't say what I expected, maybe beaded curtains, a crystal ball on the table, incense burning, something to designate this as a bonafide mystical room. What I saw instead was a modestly decorated sitting room with a few chairs and a couch. A woman rose from one of the chairs and I was paralyzed by the very sight of her. Not some old, withered crone as I'd expected, Madam Isadora appeared to be about 36 years old and was breathtakingly beautiful! She glided across the room and stopped in front of me, gazing into and beyond my eyes, just looking into the essence of me and taking in all I was or ever would be in those few seconds. It left me breathless. Everything from this point on, dear reader, transpired with all the qualities of a quickly fading dream that you can just almost remember. She finished her deep assessment of my very soul and broke off the stare with an abruptness that felt like a slap, turning away and walking back to her chair. I followed because it was obviously what she desired, though no words had been spoken between us. She sat down and I took the chair across from her, eager to see what the next surprise might be. The worn rawhide of a butler, servant or whatever capacity he served her in, appeared as if conjured by a magician behind me and asked if I'd like a drink. Before I could speak, she held up two fingers and he vanished from whence he came to slay two very tall and very cold glasses of a clear liquid, which he brought back and served with a flourish of elbows and napkins. "You want to know how I know, don't you?", she said suddenly as we drank. "You don't believe that I can see what your future holds, so you're here to disprove me, to expose me as the fraud you think I am". I met her unblinking stare and tried to speak, tried to utter any two syllables, tried to even grunt so that she would know I had comprehended her statement. But nothing came out. What magic had this gypsy witch worked on me, I wondered as she continued. "I led you here because I have something very important to tell you, something that could affect you and those around you", she said, her voice smooth and wispy as the silk scarf around her neck. She leaned close to me, like we were co-conspirators and she was about to pass very secret and important information to me. "Do you want to know what I know? Are you prepared for the consequences of knowing?", she asked. I took another drink and searched for my voice, afraid it might've completely left me. "Yes....yes I do want to know", I replied, scared of knowing but unwilling to admit it. "Tell me". She smiled then, a smile that could launch ships or break the hearts of a legion of men. "OK", she replied, "Here's your itinerary for the week of April 15th, 2002".
Weekly Itinerary April 15th- April 19th
Monday: I wake some Mondays and try to picture what the day holds for me. This is a fun game that never fails to make me smile later in the day, as the day unfolds. It is a rare and precious thing to actually have my day go as imagined, but I think that's because I tend to think outside the realms of possibility (never ONCE has the Baywatch girls met me at the front door at work!). I'm in the office today, waiting for Ed McMann and that 10 million dollar check............. Tuesday: Originally I was to fly to Cincinnati, OH today and do that thing I do when I get to the place where I go to do my thing. However, this may change as of this writing, so I may be forced to postpone the going and doing. I suppose I could say that it's neither here nor there to me, but in fact it's got to be one or the other or it's nowhere. I'll fill you in as to my true location as it becomes known to me, and exactly where and when I'll be doing my thing........ Wednesday: If I'm still in Cincinnati, OH today it's not from a lack of trying not to be there. Have you ever tried to not be somewhere? My first encounter with this was trying to not be in the principals office at school. I failed miserably at this, and he and I became close acquaintances. Yes, that's right, even then I tended to say or do things that defied the wishes of the teachers around me. I always felt that they weren't teaching what I really needed to know to survive later in life. Adding letters instead of numbers in math? How many times have I been in a truly desperate situation and slapped my forehead and said, "Oh yeah! A+b+c=d! Thank God, I could've died if I hadn't remembered that!" Not too many.......... Thursday: Summer is outside beaming down and coaxing me to join it. It insists that I bring my speedos, tanning lotion and golf clubs, although I have a feeling that the speedos might cause some concern with other players on the golf part. This is my favorite time of the year, a time of new growth, short pants and sandals. Fortunately I have no window, because I might sit here in the office and stare out of it, longing for life on the other side of the glass........ Friday: Another Friday, another week, another sly day, another hide-and-seek. Another mystery, another clue, another pre-history, another glimpse of what I do. Another day in the office spent, another laugh and smile, another effort all broken and bent, another itinerary for the file. Have a strangely wonderful yet not too weird but sort of exciting weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Day 126: The sun shines down again today, a blistering angry ball of unrelenting torture that chases me from shady spot to shady spot to avoid it's unwanted attention. I tell time that way, me constantly moving around as if I’m the hands of some twisted human clock, a reminder that the day is quickly speeding towards night. And how I loath the night and the terror it holds! Being shipwrecked has not been the Gilligan’s Island I thought it would be when I first washed ashore. Something is out there in the dark. I suppose by now they've called off the search, probably assuming that the sharks got me or that I'm plankton food at the bottom of the ocean. I wonder if they think I committed suicide when I slipped and fell off the deck of the ship that night. I miss everyone terribly.... Day 135: I suppose I should be keeping a better log for whoever finds this journal, but I only have a limited amount of paper and pencil left. Thank goodness my habit of keeping writing materials on me has finally paid off. Whatever has been coming around my camp seems to venture closer each night. I dare not leave the fire, both for my protection and to keep it burning. Somehow I feel that whatever it is waiting for the fire to go out and for me to fall asleep........and it's more hungry than I am…. Day 147: My shelter is finally strong enough to withstand the winds and viscous rain that is standard out here in this tropical hell. My thoughts have turned from hope of rescue to hopes of survival, forcing me to build more permanent structures. I've fashioned a crude weapon and spend my days living like a caveman, searching for food, firewood, and building booby traps for whatever it is that's stalking me. It howls like a banshee most nights and has turned me into a second shift worker, being one of the motivations for my sunrise to noon sleep period, followed by the hunting and gathering and building period. And then the darkness.... The darkness is spent with my back to the stones of the shear cliff, the fire raging and spitting as I feed it, fighting back that inky envelope and the thing out there that stares at me through the fire, it's eyes glowing with the lumination of the flames. It's only a matter of time before I'm out of wood or it doesn't fear the fire..... Day 160: I only have one more piece of paper left and I think tonight is the night my island rival will make it's move. I can feel the tension like a tight corduroy jumpsuit against my body, the ripples of terror not unlike the tiny ribs of cloth digging into my blistered and weather-weary skin. The months have been cruel at best, beating me down mentally, morally and physically. The island is very small, the food supply of vegetation and berries depleted, my shelter consumed by the monsoon last week, my clothes tattered and worst of all, there is no more burnable wood to be found. I have only my weapon, a gnarled piece of hardened driftwood sharpened on a rock, to defend myself with at the time I finally get to see my Demeter face to face when it comes......and it will come. With my final bit of sanity and strength intact, I've decided to use the last piece of paper for a good and noble purpose, so I give to you the finder of this journal, my Itinerary for the week of April 22nd, 2002. Weekly Itinerary April 22nd - 26th
Monday: Get out your shorts and tee shirts, summer has arrived! The usual flourish of blossoms and pollen has me smiling and sneezing as I get to the office today I'm sure. I can deal with that because the alternative is to move to Siberia where nothing can grow. Next month is choice for hiking/camping in the Smokies, rhododendron trees bloom and create tunnels along the trails there. Beeware of these in July, unless getting stung is a good thing for you. Tuesday: I was asked where my ideals come from for the prologs to my itineraries here in the office, and with all honesty I really don't know. They're just there, waiting to be given their shot at life. Some of them are rejected from being written due to content (come on, I have to exercise caution and do some censorship, the world isn't ready for "Dan Uninterrupted" yet). Some have been started, only to find themselves filed away for a special occasion or holiday. The formula is simple: I try to keep it as short as possible, build a tale that the reader can buy into by filling in the unknowns with their own imagination, and end it as a part of the beginning to the actual itinerary. No hidden meanings, no unreasonable tripe or malicious jabbing, just pure good old original homegrown therapy for the soul (mine that is). Wednesday: Taxes. These are definitely a sore issue with most people, as they should be. The reality is that everything cost money and the government takes the money it needs (and more) from the people it claims to serve. Higher costs of needs, higher levels of taking. The government is always going to do this. If you see the words "temporary tax" it only means that the amount is temporarily lower than it will be next year, not the tax. In the office today, making taxes. Thursday: I sometimes ponder, while spinning around and around in my office chair when nobody is looking, all the reasons why we as a race are drawn to certain things. The allure of pristine mountains, the pull of sporting events, the unavoidable urge to look at a traffic accident when you pass, knowing that what you might see could be horrific but still drawn to look. The driving desire to succeed, flourish and endure are probably genetic. But the draw to certain persons or things puzzle me. Kismet, fate, predestiny, Devine intervention......or just the way things are? Friday: Where do you think I'm at today, can you guess my whereabouts, am I hard at work or hard at play, can there be any serious doubts. On a plane or in a mall, I'm never even sure anymore, or maybe I'm swinging a club at a ball, trying to get a lower score than before. I may be in the office you know, watching the clock tick away the hours, but when I watch it seems to tick slow, as if affected by unnatural powers. Have a sunny, un-creepy, smooth rolling, effervescent, don't lose your mind type of weekend!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ As Tracy left the Flea Market with her many bargains, she was elated with one purchase in particular. Always on the lookout for glass antiques, she had found a crystal perfume atomizer that had to be at least 200 years old. The woman selling it had no clue where it came from or how old it actually was, but assured Tracy that it was indeed very old and very special. When she inquired as to what made it so special, the woman had smiled and laughed. "You'll know soon enough", she had chortled mysteriously, causing Tracy to have second thoughts about buying it. But it was gorgeous! It was as if something deep down was insisting she buy it. Her keen eye for antiques had noticed the hand cut craftsmanship immediately and the atomizer bulb and nozzle were in splendid shape. The metal appeared to be real gold and she almost felt guilty about the ridiculously low price she had paid. But the woman had looked relieved to be selling it. Now as she carried her treasures into her house, she thought again about the last thing the woman had told her. "Look at it, admire it, enjoy owning it, but never under any circumstances should you put perfume in it. And if you do, don't spray any back out or you could suffer terrible consequences." Tracy thought the lady was probably slightly off her rocker, warning her that way about a harmless perfume atomizer. She unpacked her bundle of goods and held the perfume bottle up to the light. The crystal bounced the light around like a prism, creating beautiful rainbows across the room, and she noticed there was some perfume still in the bottle. It was only a drop or two so without a second thought (and from pure habit) she held up her hand and sprayed the remaining scent on herself, forgetting the warning. The smell was heavenly! If only the bottle had been full! She was trying to place the fragrance when she noticed her hand seemed to be getting numb and was twitching. Her first thought was that the liquid she had sprayed was some sort of nerve poison. Her skin, other than not having any feeling in it, was otherwise unharmed. She felt of it cautiously with her other hand, and her numb fingers suddenly turned and gripped the exploring hand. It was as if another person had control of her afflicted hand, and Tracy began to feel the panic rising in her. The numb hand let go and she thought the worst was over for now. That self assurance died quickly as the numbness started to spread up her arm. In full panic now, Tracy rushed to her bathroom and frantically began washing her hand and arm. What was in that bottle?!? The numb hand and arm stopped twitching when she washed it, but before she knew what was happening, it lifted up and started touching and feeling the sink and wall. She stood there stunned, like a person sleepwalking in a bad nightmare while her out of control hand felt it's way around the room with the questioning grope of a blind person, without her direction or control. She tried to regain her composure and think this out rationally. It was her hand and arm, so she should be able to force it to obey and she concentrated her thoughts on it. However, the hand continued it's examination of the room, and she had the strangest sensation it was looking for something in particular. She ran from the room and headed for her car with the immediate plan to drive herself to the hospital but was stopped suddenly by her hand and arm as it grabbed the doorframe. She tried to pull herself through with her other arm and stood there grappling with herself when suddenly the hand felt the table top beside the door and found the pencil and paper left there for leaving messages to family members. The hand became calm and she worried that it was planning to stab her other hand with the pencil, but instead it started writing. She watched, transfixed by her bewitched hand as it smoothly moved across the paper and to her astonishment, wrote Dan's Itinerary for the week of April 29th, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary April 29th - May 3rd
Monday: Is happiness overrated? I ask this of myself more often these days, wondering if I put too much importance on being happy and if I let that mutate my opinion of anything that conflicts with my pursuit of happiness. My mantra has always been that happiness is everything. Those three simple words sum up what everyone is after in life. Regardless of what route we take to get there or how unobtainable it appears sometimes, happiness is indeed everything. If I'm in the office today and seem unhappy, rest assured I'm diligently thinking about being happy......... Tuesday: I try to always write about the variety of things on my mind, but sometimes I just write. That's all. Like now. A thought becomes a word on the keyboard and I let whatever thoughts that want to be brought into the light of day crawl from the nether regions of my cerebral cortex and show themselves. This is not always a good idea and most would be a little unsettled or shocked at some of the things that, upon reaching the top of the climb, are found to be outside the realms of what I'd want anyone to know or read. I'm in the office today, being my own personal editor....... . Wednesday: Why spend time on my itinerary writing and ranting and exposing myself to possible ridicule or even psychological evaluation? Why assume that anyone would be interested in my thoughts or that they would maybe find something worthy in here of thinking about themselves? What could possibly motivate me to throw caution to the wind and put myself out there on the proverbial branch, knowing it could snap off and send me plummeting to the ground? Fame? Loneliness? Madness? A desire to communicate with people on a different level? I may never know the answers, and rarely can I claim to understand all the questions, but I can sit in my office and ponder why...... Thursday: Here again is another week that sees me in the office and not (hopefully) traveling. There are some things fun about traveling. It's refreshing to be on a plane sitting with a first time flyer, which happened not too long ago to me. Maybe I was too convincing when I asked the girl beside me to roll down her window on the plane so that we could get some fresh air, because she spent a fair amount of time looking for the window crank. I did apologize for taking advantage of her naivety however, and wished her luck with the full body cavity strip search she would have to undergo to get her luggage when we landed.......(hehehe)...... Friday: If your still reading at this point....Woo Hoo! It's Friday again and the weekends are finally getting hot enough to enjoy. Being of the inclination that there is nothing wrong with sunbathing as long as you do it sensibly and don't cook your skin to a parched out sheath of wrinkled leather, you can most definitely find me reclining in my backyard on various weekends, sans clothing (or very little of it), enjoying the sounds of nature and the caress of a gentle breeze and ice cold adult beverage. I won't be thinking about the office, if indeed I think of anything at all......... ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ There were only a few places in the world Jody had been that could frighten her. The passageway she was now crawling down was mentally added to that list, and she found herself wondering why she had been so quick about volunteering when the Chief Archaeologist had asked who wanted to be the first to explore the newly discovered tomb. Although she was the logical choice, being the smallest of the team, there were a few others that could have made it. However she was also the most proficient at reading hieroglyphics and could recognize potential warnings about curses and booby traps, so here she was. This tomb was uncharted, unknown and had completely baffled the historians on the team when the carbon 14 dating of samples couldn't pinpoint a date. She crawled her way forward a few dozen feet at a time, stopping to listen and wipe the cobwebs from her face. Why would a spider build a web down here where everything's been dead for centuries? She took small solace in the fact that there weren't any spiders in the webs......they were after all still spider webs and that was enough to send ripples of goose bumps up her back. Her headlamp pierced the darkness ahead, giving the surface of the tunnel the appearance of being a long endless rectangle of stone with a black bottom. The warning at the door to the tunnel was non-specific as to what kind of fate awaited whomever ventured beyond it, however it did say that intruders would not return, ever. Jody inched her way forward and stopped again to listen. She wasn't sure exactly what she was listening for, given that the residents had long ceased to generate any noise, but she liked to listen all the same. It probably saved her life this time, because the second she stopped a large stone block fell down into the tunnel only a foot in front of her. The dust was incredible, billowing up from it's place of rest and hurling towards her like an angry swarm of bees. She was thankful she had worn the goggles and dust mask now, having thought only a few moments ago about removing them. Jody let the dust settle down and noticed that the stone block had left an opening above it. She had nowhere else to go but up and pulled herself into the hole above. The shock at what she found left her gasping. Expecting the typical tomb, complete with mummies and scarabs, she found instead what appeared to be a modern computer complex! There were consoles around the room and darkened screens lined the walls. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes and even wondered if she had been killed after all and was now in a different world, but the room was still there. She stood up and walked trance-like to the nearest console. Amazingly enough, there wasn't any dust or cobwebs in this room. She recognized the hieroglyphics right away that were inscribed into the surface of the console, but the directions didn't seem to make sense. And the strange equipment wasn't made from any material she had ever seen before. Jody hesitantly reached out and touched the screen of the console. It suddenly lit up with vibrant colors and symbols, swirling together and constantly changing. Mesmerized by her discovery, Jody again touched the screen and felt the symbols taking physical form beneath her finger. She wondered briefly how the room was powered when suddenly the swirling shapes and colors began to slow down and form the cryptic language she had studied for so long. Afraid that the image might suddenly disappear as quickly as it had appeared, Jody pulled her pen and pad from her pack and started translating the message. When she had finished, she re-read the notes and checked for mistakes. She shook her head slowly as she realized that there were no mistakes.......this really was Dan's Itinerary for the week of May 6th, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary May 6th-May 10th
Monday: I'm in attendance at the big box-like contraption of concrete and steel and wires that we habitat while absorbing oxygen and gravity during our period of common and mutual efforts towards manipulating concrete, steel and wiring into other big box-like contraptions. To put it in simple terms, I'm in the office today. But why be simple? The confusion that occurs when things are not simple is sometimes coveted by a few personalities around the office who consider themselves to be complicated people, when in all actuality they're only absorbed by their own inner image of themselves. How much more simple can that be? Tuesday: Opinions are a lot like all the other things that everyone has one of. My opinions are by no means to be taken to heart, out of context, literally, figuratively, with a grain of salt, orally three times a day, in stride, or as the gospel. I merrily try to offer a point of view from a different viewpoint, observations from a different observation deck, something that can be shredded, folded, spindled or mutilated. I can only hope that my opinions from within don't generate other opinions about what may dwell within. I never question my sanity, here in my office, only my motivations........ Wednesday: The grinding, chewing, swishing backwash of a year moves steadily along, coaxing me to flow along with it but threatening to pull me under at any given moment. The saying "go with the flow" never meant so much as it does now, at a time when trying to stand still means to be knocked off my feet. I often wonder where it will all take me, and if upon arriving I'll look around and regret the trip. You could say I'm my own worst critic as I sit here at the office and measure my accomplishments against failures, my hopes against hopeless causes and how short I tied my tie today....... Thursday: Today I'm in the office, guzzling coffee and avoiding the break room least I should be sucked in and forced to eat a donut. I often wonder why nothing's ever broken in the break room, which would actually make it the unbroken room. But if you go strictly by function, I guess my office could be called the board (bored) room. I have more colorful nomenclatures for it, but none that can be sent, written or spoken above a whisper without possibly causing some bad things to befall me. Friday: We (being the gang of malcontents that gather in the office on Monday mornings) were asked to reflect on our main client and how lucky we are to have them. I've spent some time reflecting (while standing in front of a mirror, no less) and agree that while I sometimes seem to be aggravated or unhappy with the powers that be (and that I need to lose weight) , I do appreciate them and the challenges that arise from the meetings that I attend. Gift horse in the mouth and all that yada yada........ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The agent had seen a lot of tough, nail biting situations in his long career, but the predicament he was now in most likely took the grand prize for bad situations. The mission he had drawn this time around appeared at first to be a "sled ride", which was agent speak for an easy, no problem type of mission in which he would just pick up information and deliver it elsewhere. These were the coveted assignments that usually had a person in bed and asleep by 11:00 PM, with the bonus being you rarely got shot at. But as he lay silently in the dark and listened for his pursuers, he revised his opinion of the degree of difficulty this mission entailed. The instructions had came through the usual channels, this time laminated with a special coating and arriving in a box via delivery beneath a large pizza. He had read the instructions, tore the document into small pieces and eaten it with the pizza. The flavor of the message was exactly that of garlic bread and he had made a mental note to thank the guy in the tech department responsible for the flavored coating. As he thought back to the botched mission, he felt the only person that could have betrayed him was the pizza delivery guy. There was no other break in security and the two spooks that were waiting out somewhere in the darkness had known exactly where and when he was picking up the package and where and when he was delivering it. But the agent didn't think they knew what the package was. After following him to the pickup and exposing themselves while trying to corner him in, they had chased him to this warehouse, not knowing that the agent had been here before and in fact wanted to lead them here. It had then become a waiting game in the dark, with the loser being the first to move or make a sound. The agent didn't mind this game, he had played it many times and could remain motionless for hours on end. The trouble would be if the other guys became impatient and moved in on him before he was ready. He was mentally checking off the escape routes in his mind and calculating which would be his best shot at making it out alive when a voice dangerously close to him shouted out in the inky blackness. "Listen, we know you're in here somewhere and we know you have the package, so why don't you just hand it over and we'll let you go", the husky voice drawled out with just a touch of false sincerity to it. Yeah, right, the agent thought, I've heard that line before and have even told the same lie to others myself right before I shot them. "Come on, you know that when it gets light in half an hour we'll have you anyway, so let's get this over with now", came a voice from the other side of the warehouse. The agent did indeed know this and figured the time he had bought by cutting the power to the building was running out fast. Already a slight glimmer of light was creeping into the warehouse through the high windows. The agent had one more trick up his sleeve, literally, and as quietly as possible he pulled a small flash-bang flare from the sheath strapped to his forearm. The activation string on the flare was pretty long and he tied it across the isle from which his opponents would have to approach. The agent crawled away from the direction the voices had come from and worked his way towards the far side of the room. A conveyor belt was arranged for loading through the wall here and he could just make it through the opening if he could buy enough time. He poised himself to move and tossed a quarter towards the area he was previously. It clanged perfectly and he heard the two quickly move in on it. The agent turned his head just as the flash-bang flare went off, blinding and stunning the two as they tripped the activation string. He dived through the opening and darted down the alley to where his car was parked, pausing only long enough to puncture two tires on the other agents car. That was very close, he thought, checking the package to insure it was still with him. He quickly read the contents and it was right then that he decided from now on Dan could figure out some other way of getting his itinerary to Nikki on time.
Weekly Itinerary May 13th-May 17th
Monday: There are many places in this old world that I will most likely never travel to, and there are many places I will. One thing's for certain, my job takes me to places that are not on my short list of places I just have to see, although I'm no worse off for having seen them. Today I'll sit here in the office and plan the upcoming tirade of trips that have backlogged themselves into such a tight time frame that I might as well go from place to place like a gypsy and only come home on the weekends......... Tuesday: Finally, after a strange 3 weeks of travelessness (is that a real word?) I'm back in the air and floating towards a distant town (a.k.a. Cincinnati, OH) to see distant people about a project that is in, wait for it.....wait for it.....the no so distant future. Today I'll reluctantly wake at the absurd hour of 3:30am, struggle into my clothes and go blindly to the airport, where all semblances of privacy are shredded as I'm x-rayed, scanned, patted down and forced to wait while a stranger riffles through my luggage. The only levity I can offer is to pack something totally unusual and weird (yet legal) and happily watch as the inspector freaks out...... Wednesday: One would think that I'd stay in Tuesdays town and enjoy it for awhile, but that would be the path taken in a more perfect world. After doing my distant thing yesterday, I got back on a plane and flew to St. Louis, MO to do almost the same things but with different people and most likely with different results. I'll board yet another plane and fly home tonight, bringing with me that feeling of satisfaction and air sickness that I know so well.... Thursday: Back on the chopping block today, which is what my office is sometimes known as (to me, anyway). You may have seen the pile of plans and memos that have gathered on my desk to discuss my impending destruction, but armed with a red flair pen and the trash can I'll wade through the pile and wreak havoc on the two dimensional demons that live on those pages. There's a good chance I'll weather a few paper cuts, but I'll fight the good fight......... Friday: You could say I'm ecstatic about it being Friday and it would be an understatement. You could say I'm deliriously joyful and you'd still be a few syllables short of the truth. Fridays have come and gone before, and you may be tempted to ask what makes this one special. The pure and simple truth is that it's no different than any other Friday at the office, period. So....by careful reasoning and deduction you can safely assume that EVERY Friday is coveted as a great day, for tomorrow we party! Nuff said........ Have a tremendous, monumental, not so shabby, un-recycled weekend!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The news that they were being replaced by robots was an incredible shock to the entire staff of the mall and as she sat there speechless, which was very rare for Pat, she started forming a plan to avoid being ousted by some glorified pile of circuits and wire. That the top management would even consider such a thing was beyond reason as far as she was concerned. She and all the others had poured a lot of time and effort into this place. To just say "so long, thanks for the many years of service" was totally unacceptable. She knew the robots were due to arrive any minute and as she went over her plan again, Colleen walked into the office. "They're here Pat", Colleen said. Her eyes were wide and glazed, as if she had just seen the Devil himself. "And you're not going to believe what they've done", she continued. "What did they do?", Pat replied, worried about the look on Colleens face and what it might imply. "You really have to see for yourself", Colleen answered in a quiet and awed voice, and Pat knew whatever it was, it wasn't good. They walked out into the main office and the sight that greeted Pat was almost enough to push her over the edge of sanity entirely. Kevin was standing there motionless, toe to toe, nose to nose, staring into the face of an exact duplicate of himself! That wasn't the worst of it, because behind the duplicate of Kevin was reproductions of Pat and Colleen! It was probably the strangest moment of their lives as they both walked over and examined the robots that had been made to look and perform exactly like themselves. The "Pat" robot stood there unblinking while the real Pat looked it over, unimpressed by the craftsmanship that had went into the robots. Kevin continued to face off with his replacement, unwilling to believe that he could be replaced by this contraption. He abruptly turned and looked at his staff, giving them a slight nod towards his, or rather the pseudo Kevin's, office. The three of them retreated to the office and closed the door. " I can't believe this is happening", Kevin whispered, "there's no way these bag of parts can do our jobs". "Why are you whispering?", Colleen asked, and before Kevin could answer a voice that sounded exactly like Colleens came from the other side of the door. "Because we're equipped with super sonic hearing, Colleen", said the mechanical Colleen, "and we can hear so well that I can even count your heart rate, which is very high, by the way". Colleen froze and stared at her co-workers, who stared back with apparent disbelief. Pat decided enough was enough and picked up a pad, writing down that she had a plan that she felt could end this nightmare. Before either of the two could question what the plan was Pat opened the door and strolled out past the trio of androids. "So, you three suppose you can replace us, do you?", she challenged. "What makes you think that?" The three robots paused, and Pat wondered if the were communicating silently between themselves when the Kevin robot spoke up, sounding exactly like the real Kevin. "We are Model 5000 Excalibur Mall-Bots. We have been designed and programmed to do exactly what you do, act exactly as you act and run the mall in the most efficient manner possible," it replied, sending a shiver up the backs of all three humans. Pat knew she only had this one chance to defeat the robots, so she decided to seize the moment. "So, you fancy yourselves as perfect replacements, huh? Well, as your very first duty you should probably read this", she said, and handed each of the three fakes a piece of paper. They accepted the paper and started reading. Kevin and Colleen stood behind Pat, still unsure of what she was up to but willing to go along with anything at this point. Suddenly the robots all started to tremble and shake, as if their systems were in a mechanical seizure. The shaking stopped and small wisps of smoke started billowing from the robots ears. The Kevin robot tried to speak, but stammered and sputtered instead, the only distinguishable words being "unable to compute" and "system overload", before he, like the other two, toppled and fell over on the floor. "Well, looks like we're not so replaceable after all", Pat proclaimed, while Colleen and Kevin stood there with their mouths hanging open. "My God!", shouted Colleen, "what did you give them to read?" "Here, see for yourself", Pat replied, taking the paper from the Colleen robot's hand and handing it to the real Colleen. Colleen read the typed sentences there and smiled, handing the paper to Kevin to read. Kevin looked at the paper and understood at once how diabolical Pat's plan had been, for this was Dan's Itinerary for the week of May 20th - 24th, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary May 20th-May 24th
Monday: Greetings and salutations from the wonderful world of genuine and unaltered itinerary madness. Today I'm in all probability in the office either typing out a whole slew of things to do or bouncing from wall to wall as more and more work creeps under my door and into my in box. Much like a pinball game, my day will consist of trying to score as many points as possible without being slammed down the middle and into that abyss known as the meeting zone...... Tuesday: One must understand the dynamics of the pre-construction world to really get a grasp of why I will, in all likelihood, be flying to Charleston, SC today. Having been to this site before and seen what was there, I must now return a year later and see if 1.) the mall is still there 2.) if things are worse this year and 3.) if Appleby's still has the drink specials after 9:00 PM. I've tried to find a way to accomplish these items without the flight and overnight stay, but alas, there is no other way..... Wednesday: If indeed I flew to Charleston, SC yesterday, then it's a good chance I'm still there today because there's not just one mall here, but two (that's right....I'm double dipping on malls) here to look at. While I hesitate to think of how lucky I truly am to have two malls this close together, I do pause to consider how close to the beach I am and how long it's been since I've gotten sand in all the places sand can get in. Armed with my trusty speedo's and a smile, I just might storm the beach and see if the locals notice..... Thursday: Maybe I'm back in the office today, provided I didn't get arrested yesterday. I will grab my faithful climbing rope, pickaxe and tetons and scale the mountain of paperwork that someone keeps building on my desk while I'm away. The top of this pile of former trees is usually deep in rhetoric and confusion, which changes to stress and despondence halfway down. And to think I gave up a career in belly-button lint removal........ Friday: I hesitate to send this document to you, for "big brother" in the office may be reading it too, it's just a boring itinerary wrapped in fun, yet big brother may wonder what else I've done. It doesn't take that long to write, and is usually done at lunch or at night, a different point of view in my own format, a wordy "where I'll be" mixed with this or that. Not written to cause panic or displeasure, it's a stress breaking pause I've come to treasure, if you find this message is sent your way, in it you may hold a staring role someday. Have a weekend of pure, unadulterated, meaningless yet poignant fun! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ All the years of practice, all the long evenings as a kid wishing he could go out and play with his friends but instead held captive in the house by his ruthless instructor, all the looks and sneers from his school mates because he had to take violin lessons, all of it finally seemed to be worth it as Joe arrived at the symphony hall with his violin. The last rehearsal had went wonderfully well, so much in fact that he had been given the lead violinist spot and would do the main solo during the big finale. 20,000 people would be sitting on the edges of their seats as he played, not a sound to be heard at that moment except his violin. It was everything Joe had hoped for and he had tuned and polished his instrument with a fervor that morning, not able to walk by it without picking it up and dreamily thinking about the upcoming evening. He called everyone who could possibly attend and urged them to get tickets. He even called the old school chums who had been the source of so much ridicule when he was sequestered inside as a child. Now his moment of fame would set things right and he would show everyone how talented he was. Yes, Joe felt invincible! He pulled into the reserved parking spot for the lead violinists car and removed his violin from the passenger seat, well aware of people watching him and whispering. He imagined they were remembering his face and would look for him among the other performers, whispering again then to the people sitting beside them that they had seen him in the parking garage and "my, how beautiful his solo was!" Joe arrived at the dressing room and chatted with the other members of the symphony but really didn't hear much of what they said. He moved as if in a dream, the world floating out there at arms length and hazy as he smiled and nodded and focused all his attention on the performance he was about to give. He barely noticed the crowd as he and the rest of the performers filed into their seats on the stage. He was right up front, with a larger music stand than the others. Right there by the stand was the coveted platform that he would stand on and realize his dream. The symphony played, Joe played, the crowd was polite and attentive and finally, after all the preparation and work, Joe's moment arrived. He joined in on the finale with the others, playing the lead in the waltz to perfection and following the progression of the sheet music. Joe stood at the precise moment he was supposed to stand, taking the platform as the music swelled to a crescendo, and turned the page of his music to the solo. The crowd leaned forward and closed their eyes, all the better to prepare their ears for this moment of pure musical bliss. The silence seemed to stretch and stretch, and Joe stood there as still as a statue, looking at where his solo music was supposed to be but seeing instead Dan's Itinerary for the week of May 27th - May 31st. Weekly Itinerary May 27th-May 31st Monday: Memorial Day is today and you can bet your sweet bippy that I'm in the bed until noon, a lethargic, non-moving mass of gravity wasting uselessness. I'll strive to do nothing today, and I'll do it to such perfection that friends and neighbors from all around will stop and admire my lack of effort. Man, life is good! Tuesday: There's many things to do and less time to do them than ever before. I'm in the office today with a pitchfork, un-loading my in-box a bale at a time and wondering why I didn't follow my dream of becoming an astronaut. I've seen Star Wars 5 times and Apollo 11 twice. I feel totally qualified to go into space now..... Wednesday: Sometimes I think of simpler times when there were only 3 television channels, no internet or computers and the word video was as alien to us as underwear is to Pakistani rebels. These were the best of times and though I don't miss the typewriters we had in the office, I do miss the slower pace of a non-electronic environment. It takes as long to do the work of producing a document or plan, but somehow the gizmos we surround ourselves with in the office is supposed to make this process take a fraction of the time it did. Garbage in, garbage out....... Thursday: Our taxes at work....what a load that statement is. I wince every time I read the paper and see that politicians are crying for more money, all in the name of keeping their jobs cushy and overpaid. We have to watch our money being spent on things we don't want or care about, funneled into areas we don't know about or approve of, given to those whom neither earn or deserve it, and yet we're told that's not enough? I'm in the office today looking for every tax loophole I can find and threading my way through them. Friday: A Friday rhyme is a really strange way, to tell you where I'll be, when I'll travel and where I'll stay, and the general locations of me. I'll rant and rave and speak my mind, on the other days of the week, and talk on any subject I find, a four day monolog so to speak. But how do I say I'm in the office today, and do it in poetic style, hey it looks like I managed anyway, So I'll stop right here for awhile. Have a splendid weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The music shop held many wonderful things that caught Jesse's eye, many wonderful things indeed, but it was the custom hand-made twelve string in the glass case behind the counter that he kept returning to stare at. He wanted to play it and started several times to ask the cashier to take it out of the display case, but somehow knew that to just hold that guitar would seal the deal and he'd be taking it home, something he hadn't planned on. This guitar was special though, and Jesse remembered the story he'd heard about the guy who made it. He didn't know whether to believe the tale or shrug it off as a far-fetched rumor, but it made owning the guitar that much more desirable. The story was that an odd little smiling man who lived out in the country by himself would ride into town in a vintage Model T once a year with one single guitar to sell. They were always hand made of exotic woods that didn't even grow in this part of the country, inlaid with real pearl and ivory, and the sound was supposed to be so clear and pure from these guitars that recording studios couldn't find any residual static or reverb from them on their sound board monitors. The story had gotten more interesting as Jesse heard it. The odd little smiling man had delivered this last guitar and then apparently just snapped! He started madly talking gibberish and nonsense , ranting about the future and how he'd seen it while polishing this very guitar. The guys in the white coats came then, fitted him with a snug white jacket of his very own that buttoned up the back, and he was carted away for observation. Jesse had never heard or seen one of these rare masterpieces until now, and decided that regardless whether he bought it or not, he had to play it. He motioned to the clerk and waited while it was taken out of the glass case. It weighed almost nothing and when Jesse strummed the strings it sent a vibration through him that seemed to resonate into his very mind. As he looked the instrument over for even the tiniest of flaws, which he failed to find, he notice a piece of paper taped just inside the body. Looking around for the clerk but not seeing him, Jesse decided it couldn't hurt to take a look. He removed and unfolded the paper and couldn't believe his eyes! This was written by the guitar maker, obviously right before or while he was going mad. The poor little guy had written this note as if he was passing on the secret location of the Holy Grail, explaining in a wander script that you could gaze into the sheen and gloss on the back of the guitar and see the into the future. "Must have been the constant exposure to the varnish fumes", Jesse murmured to himself, absent mindedly turning the guitar over to look into the rich dark red of the guitar's back. Jesse froze, his hands locked onto the guitar as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. There in the wood where nothing was before, as if carved into the wood itself, was Dan's Itinerary for the week of June 3rd - June 7th. Weekly Itinerary June 3rd-June 7th
Monday: I wonder about people who measure their own progress by using others around themselves as a gauge. That flawed method of measuring assumes that the chosen gauge is calibrated, accurate, dependable, and registers higher than your own expectations so that you can advance, thus the progress part. Tricky is the choice of gauges we make, even trickier is being the unwitting gauge for someone else. You never know here in the office who's looking to whom for what........ Tuesday: I have every misaligned intention of being in Charleston, SC (?) today, a trip that was supposed to happen previously but alas did not. Disappointed? Surprised? Astounded? None of these apply to my reaction that the trip was canceled and rescheduled.........which may happen again. Wednesday: I'm probably still in Charleston, SC, since staying overnight is the modus operandi of this particular trip. It is yet another one of the beautiful places I travel to that I never get to really see, and I usually can describe such sight-seeing adventures as only seeing a site (mall site that is). I hear the beach is nice...... Thursday: I'm back in the office today full of energy and wisdom, neither of which may be portrayed in my movements or actions. Motion held to a minimum conserves energy while going through empty motions displaces wisdom. I strive to expend positive energy and absorb positive wisdom. A daunting task. Friday: In the repetitive spin of a tumbling top, waiting for the week and the twirling to stop, see me passing in a blur and a blink, no time to talk, no time to think. Round and round and dizzy within, here in the office for another spin, Try to glimpse my furtive smile, watch me spinning all the while. itinerary above. Thanks for the update Jesse, well done! Dear Dan, I certainly enjoyed your telling of the tale about the rare, master built 12 string guitar. But now that I've been released from the hospital and the swelling has gone down I feel well enough to tell you the rest of the story. When played, this guitar created sound like none have ever graced the planet before. You would swear that it could bring out the sun on a rainy day just to see what made such heavenly chords. It was to be mine. I refinanced the house, pawned my car title, gave plasma, donated sperm and started my own internet porn site. I then paid the full asking price - a sum which shall remain unnamed, and came straight home with my new love. A few words about the case which cradled this fine instrument. The guitar case, which was also handmade by the master luthier, was a magnificent creation. Seemingly delicate, being only a few millimeters thick, it was incredibly strong. The texture of the material was of fine silk and covered with golden engravings of swirling serpentine shapes which would shimmer and glow with a radiance which seemed to emanate from inside the case itself. You could not touch these shapes because when you tried, they would flow away from your touch like rippling water. There were no latches either. The case seemed to sense when you wished to open it, otherwise no matter the force applied, it would not budge. Sounds crazy I know, tripped me out too. The case also came with a carrying strap made from hemp rope braided through pinky finger bones from the right hands of almost famous eighteenth century classical guitarists. Not that that's any big deal because everybody knows that, for the most part, guitarists don't use the pinky on their right hand. duh. It was when I hit the first note of the first chord the first time I played that it happened. Well, nothing happened actually. Complete and utter silence. You could feel it in the air almost as if the exact spot where I was sitting had sucked up all the sound. Maybe all the sound in the world. I didn't know - it wasn't like I could call somebody up cause they wouldn't have heard me anyway. It seemed my neighbors could sense this too and before long had gathered into an angry though curiously silent mob. At this point things got pretty crazy as more people surrounded my house and were in turn flanked by police who lip synched for everyone to "please remain calm" while my neighbors and one-time friends soundlessly pounded on my doors. Frantically looking through the guitar case for owner's manuals, warranty info, helpful hints, anything, I noticed a silhouette of a hand outlined inside the lid accompanied by the words "NEED HELP, PRESS HERE". What else could I do? When I pressed my right hand into the outline I was immediately engulfed with a warm, cozy euphoria. A soul calming sense that everything was going to be just fine. This feeling was quickly replaced by an icy cold fear which corkscrewed through my hand, up my arm and exploded in my skull directly behind my eyes! I jerked my hand away a moment to late as the case slammed shut, severing my pinky precisely at the knuckle. I hardly noticed the sound (an unearthly mix between a nuclear explosion and a blast from Satan's anus) produced when the case slammed shut, though I do recall faint aroma of vanilla. I was sitting there in shock, staring at the surgical precision of the amputation, as a single drop of blood fell from the wound and landed on the case. This sent the golden shapes into a frenzy of twisting and writhing as though in agony. After I looked out the window to see the crowd slowly dispersing I glanced back at the case and fell to my knees. Because there, looking as though scrawled with a stick by the Blaire witch, was Dan's Itinerary for May 26th, 2035. In disbelief I reached out to touch it when the case, with the guitar inside, collapsed into a pile of sawdust and metal shavings. Just thought I'd let you know,
Jesse.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Finding the car of his dreams was the easy part, Wayne reflected as he got off the Greyhound bus in California, but actually acquiring it was definitely not an easy undertaking. The jet fuel shortage that summer had taken it's toll on the nation, causing the bus stations to become overcrowded past capacity and stock in airline companies to plummet as investors scrambled to find other mass transit in which to invest. Once shunned as the transportation of the pitifully poor, now prominent businessmen jockeyed for position in the bus lines to buy a ticket. Wayne was grateful that this particular bus ride was a one-way ticket because he had been a virtual "baby magnet" on his three day excursion to the west coast. If a baby was crying on the bus, you could bet (and win) that it was in front of, behind or beside Wayne. But now he was in Las Angeles, the horrendous bus ride was behind him, and the '91 Corvette he had come to pick up awaited. He promised himself that he would drive excruciatingly slow on the trip back to Chattanooga to savior every mile behind the wheel, and he would laugh and thumb his nose at every bus that he passed. He walked the short distance to the cabbies curb area and was about to get in a waiting cab when he saw a young woman holding a sign with his name on it. "The seller of this car has won my eternal gratitude", Wayne said aloud to no one in particular as he approached the woman. Being on a tight budget, he hadn't relished the dauntingly high cab fares everyone told him to expect. "I'm Wayne", he said, noticing the incredibly high-cut shorts and low-cut blouse she was wearing, while wondering if the plastic surgeon who had augmented her perfect figure had any sense at all of weight/size proportions, or was just near-sighted. "Are you here to pick me up and take me to the car I'm buying?", he inquired, unable to tear his gaze from her sculpted and tanned body. "Hi Wayne, I'm Daphne and yes, the seller asked that I meet you here and bring you to the bank to meet him", she said in a rather squeaky but not unpleasant voice, fully aware of his mental and visual appraisal. She had dressed for effect, and was happy to see the effort rewarded. "I have a cashiers check right here in a sealed envelope, all it needs is my signature", he answered, patting his coat pocket and beaming an ear-to-ear smile at her. She was a very nice person, and fun to look at too, he thought. He liked California already. "Well let's go", she said and led him to a small import car that seemed even smaller as she squeezed her amply fortified torso in behind the steering wheel. The bank was only a few blocks from the bus station, and sitting there in front of it was the Corvette Wayne had traveled so far to get. It was even more beautiful in person, and Wayne struggled between looking at it and at his new friend. Both looked sleek, fast and dangerous, combinations that were as exciting as they were mesmerizing. They went in the bank and was shown to a desk where a bank clerk and customer was sitting. Wayne recognized the customer sitting beside the clerk as the seller from the picture that had been sent, and shook the man's hand as he stood up. "I see my daughter found you", the man said, causing Wayne to blush as he quickly put mental clothes back on the woman. "Yes, and I appreciate her picking me up, it was a nice surprise", Wayne retorted. "Well, I hate to sell the car, but I'm glad someone who cares enough about cars to ride all this way on a bus is buying it, so it was the least we could do. I trust you've brought the cashiers check for the amount we agreed on?", the man mentioned. "I have it right here", Wayne replied, pulling the envelope from his inner coat pocket. "I've saved towards this car for years and thought I'd never find the right one. While the bus ride was fairly unpleasant, it was well worth it. I'll finally fulfill my dream of owning a Corvette", Wayne said, opening the envelope. They all stared in silence at the shock on Wayne's face as he removed from the envelope not a cashiers check, but Dan's Itinerary for the week of June 10th - 14th. Dan's Itinerary June 10th - 14th Monday: "A watched dog never boils. Don't count your chickens before they cross the road. A bird in the bush usually has a friend in there with him." Sayings such as these (but not exactly like these, obviously) have survived throughout the ages and undoubtedly have went through many transformations similar to the ones I've incorporated here, changing from generation to generation as they were told and re-told. I wonder if some of the non-fiction books we hold in high esteem (the bible, for example) went through the same kind of transformations as the passages told there were passed along from shepard to shepard to disciple and so on, with the final version greatly changed from actual events by the time they were written. I'm in the office today, wondering just how big the giant David defeated really was........ Tuesday: "Freedom" is a delicate yet solid concept in which one has the unequivocal power to decide what's right for themselves and the ability to act on that decision. Freedom is usually found squared off against it's deadliest of foes.....control. The need and desire to control is that painfully human condition that infects some much more than others, and you can almost always bet that politicians and preachers are deeply afflicted by this ailment more so than others, striving in their lives work to control the actions and beliefs (and dare I say minds?) of others, all in the name of saving us from ourselves. I'm in the office today, trying to decide if I'm really free or just well guided enough to believe I am...... Wednesday: You can tell that many profound things have been playing across my mind lately while sitting in my office, causing me to question some of the mannerisms of society that we're supposed to accept and agree with if we're to be considered model citizens. Non-conformist? Rebellious? Anarchist? Hmmmm.......no, those labels don't apply to me, I'm just a guy with an open mind. Actually, I'm not sure any label could or should apply to anyone, because a label is just an descriptive personal opinion someone has of someone else. If enough people agree with the label, it becomes viewed as fact. How I despise the labels our society has generated! She is "that" or he's one of "those"........how trite. Teaching your children to see through labels and know people for who they are is the greatest gift you could give them, besides love...... Thursday: I'm not a philosopher. I'm not a visionary. I'm not a wise man, evangelist, preacher, guru, or even a voice of reason. There is a vast array of things I'm not. I'm just me. Nothing I write here in the office should ever be taken as personal advice, directives, or even a gentle nudging in any particular direction. My itineraries have become a source of much needed inner reflection for me personally, and hopefully a source of amusement for anyone reading them. One stated goal I do have, however, is to urge my fellow humans to think in a broad pallet of colors and ideas and explore their own inner selves. You'll be enlightened. Friday: When the world gives you a terrible fright, and you think it'll never end, when your fears wake you sweating at night, and your courage starts to bend, When the office strife drags you into the gloom, into the darkest corners of the day, just clear your mind like an empty room, you'll find some peace that way. Have a weekend to remember.......
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The wooden box Ruth bought at the yard sale was immaculate, trimmed in a scrolling metal pattern that curved around the hand carved woodwork like a second skin, displaying a craftsmanship long extinct or very rare in this modern day world of mass production, formed plastics and marketed glitz. Only 5 inches long and 4 inches wide, it had almost escaped her attention, hidden away as it was in a pile of miscellaneous future scrap heap inductees. Covered with dust and tarnished with the battle scars of time, the box had looked more like a chunk of burnt wood wrapped in a faded tin can than the beautiful treasure she now held. Catching the seller at a busy moment, Ruth had held it up and raised her eyebrows at the woman, asking in that ageless gesture what she would need to part with the box. Seeing nothing that appeared valuable in Ruth's hand, the lady had held up two fingers and immediately went back to haggling with another customer over some rather gaudy figurines. Ruth gave the two dollars to the young girl assisting the woman before the seller could reconsider and quickly walked back to the car where Bobby waited, turning the box over in her hands and shaking it slightly. There was something rattling around in there, something small and clinky. She had gotten in the car and turned to find Bobby staring at her in disbelief. "You bought a hunk of burnt wood?" he asked, switching his gaze from the box to her and back to the box again. "I could've given you that for free", he continued, starting the car and pulling off, thinking that she had totally lost her mind. "It only looks burnt because of the tarnish and anyway, it was only two dollars," she had retorted, rubbing a spot shiny on top of the box with her shirt and wondering how she was going to get the lock to open without destroying the lid. Now that she had gotten it home and cleaned it up Bobby was showing more interest. He picked it up and shook it gently, hearing the same clink that Ruth heard before. This conjured up immediate images in Bobby's mind of a rare coin or golden jewelry, maybe a ring even, and he started to reach for a screwdriver to pry open the lid. "What are you doing? You'll ruin the lid that way", Ruth said, "we'll have to find some other way to get it open". Bobby looked at the inlaid lock and noticed it had a keyhole unlike any he had ever seen, almost a starburst shape intricately woven into the metal banding that had been revealed to be silver and now shined brilliantly in the light. The tarnish had also been covering designs hand-etched into the silver, the etchings not even apparent until the third cleaning. The silver hinges were cleverly built into the banding also, with no hinge-pins visible. The box was indeed very beautiful and had that look antiques get only age can provide. "We may never get it open without breaking it, you know. Can you stand hearing that clinky noise from now on and not know what it is? Because I'm not sure if I can", Bobby said. "Anyway, I suppose now you at least have a nice conversation piece." Ruth thought about this for a moment and was about to give in to the screwdriver approach when she noticed something particularly strange about the way the sides fit together that she hadn't noticed while cleaning the box. The dovetail joints on one corner were in an opposite pattern from the rest of the boxes corners, and the silversmith work here varied from the rest of the box. She took the box from Bobby and by instinct alone started pressing and pulling at that corner, not noticing he was back to looking at her with the "my wife has lost her mind" expression again. Her efforts were rewarded when a section of the box slid smoothly to the side revealing a small compartment in the end of the box, and inside was a tiny silver starburst pattern key. They both froze at the sight of it and Bobby's thoughts went from finding treasure inside the box to thoughts of finding a treasure map, and both of them held their collective breaths as she fit the key to the lock and turned it. There was a barely audible click as the well-crafted lock performed for what may have been the first time in decades, and she opened the lid. The red velvet lining could have passed for brand new, and both of their eyes widened at the sight of a piece of folded paper. Bobby pulled out the paper gently, not wanting to see it and his hopes of buried treasure disintegrate into powder, and unfolded it with all the precision of a surgeon operating on his only child. Reading it twice to make sure it really was what he thought it was, he handed to Ruth and sat down with a glazed and distant look in his eyes. "What is it?" she said, not able to stop looking at the shocked expression on his face. "I don't know how it's even possible", he replied without blinking, "But that's our son Dan's Itinerary for the week of June 17th - 21st".
Weekly Itinerary June 17th - 21st Monday: Pre-viously, pre-constructions vice pre-sident pre-sented a pre-conceived pre-cept that we would pre-empt any and all pre-destined pre-sentations as a pre-cursor to visiting Cleveland. This turned out to be a pre-cocious pre-dicament to pre-dict, on the pre-mise that we were pre-pared to offer our pre-sence. Instead, I'm in the office today.......feeling slightly ahead of my time and pre-tending it to be my pre-rogative. Tuesday: So you're thinking that everything you ever wanted is just beyond your reach, but still highly obtainable if only you had studied harder in English class? You were only 5 numbers away from winning the lottery, again, and then remembered you only picked one number? Someone nailed your shoes to the floor and put the good cereal on the top shelf? Tuesdays are usually like that for me, making me want to find the slowest boat to anywhere and stowaway. Ah, someday I will be a cabin Man! I'm in the office once again today, trying to remember what it was about traveling that was so disturbing to begin with. Wednesday: I look, I search, I tie myself up into little knots and still I can't find a way to shorten my itinerary here at the office without resorting to a simple one word explanation of my whereabouts. Faster? Yes. Easier? Definitely. Ergonomic? By all means. But there are so many words I haven't trounced, bundled, squeezed, mauled and reverberated within the confines of this arena. As you can tell, I loath the thought of one word descriptions....... Thursday: Today I'll be training on how to be safe. This is a strange concept were we'll be thrust into a classroom within a nice, air-conditioned, engineered building that's sprinkler and fire exit equipped, sit in government approved padded chairs on a slip resistant floor and learn about the perils of the outside world. Afterwards we'll retreat to our zip-lock rooms, become hermetically sealed inside a beer bottle and await the new day tomorrow. See, safety training can be fun........ Friday: Anyone who takes the safety training at Cohutta, Ga. seriously should never play golf with the group in front of me. My golf balls are equipped with flesh-seeking sensors that automatically zero in on players ahead, limited only by my conscious, gravity and how hard I can smack them into action. Sometimes these little devils will malfunction, mistaking sand and water and trees and tall grass for people. By the way, Cohutta is also an anagram for taco hut...........ponderous.........
Have a top of the morning, bottom of the bottle, middle of the road weekend! (and I mean that from the back of my bottom) ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The agent had just received his fifth cryptic message and was now beginning to be worried about losing this life, which was not a normal feeling for him, because he had never been scared of losing a life before. And he'd lost a few. A large part of these lives had been spent dodging other agents and operatives, all of whom wanted to say they had been the one to take him out of action for good. They would move up the food chain in this business very fast that way. But five times now he'd moved to a different safe house, "killed" his former identity (he'd be missing that first one to "die" quite a lot…. it had a long personal use and emotional attachments had unfortunately developed) and assumed a different identity. They were just five of several dozen created over the years, and being the professional he was, the agent could snap into any one of them, right down to a pseudonym life history and clever anecdotes to match. But four of his clever chaps had met unnoticed obituaries with no one to grieve after them but him, as they were merrily creations of his own mind, and it left him sad and angry each time. He was no less attached than if they had been sons. Careful measures were taken, but each time, a few days later, he'd get another coded message, always finding them in the oddest of places, mainly because he dwelled in the oddest of places. He suspected his last client, someone this mysterious Nikki was associated with, of paying him back for calling it quits after his last "near death" experience. Whew! That one was too close and convinced him of retiring from that gig. But apparently this guy Dan couldn't take the hint and was determined to yet again get the agent involved in something that would yet again have him in danger of becoming a small flesh and bone temporary artificial reef anchored by cement shoes, dissolving surfaces and an empty stare. And this infuriating code! He'd tried every known method of cracking it; throwing the best decryption software other people's money could buy at it, only to see the same jumble of scribbles appear. He laid this last message down and made quick and irrevolkable mental decisions, picking a route to the next safe house and thinking of his imminent passing away. After he'd mentally scratched off the person he was now and decided on the next frightened guest persona to try outwitting this persistent knucklehead, he decided on another thing. The code was unbreakable and undecipherable without the key, and until he found that key they were going to find him and keep him on the move. The only one he could think of to shake down for it was this Nikki, and he pulled the necessary papers from a hidden compartment under the base of the toilet and burned his old portfolio, choosing a name and field that would get him by security easily. Nikki had looked pretty tough when it had came to handling the past messages he delivered to her, not taking his "attitude" as she put it (she really said attitude!) and for him to quit whining about being shot at by some goofs that had him out numbered and still couldn't kill him! That was why her associate had chosen him and only him as a courier, she had said, calling him an ingrate and Pitiful Gurlie Man. The agent would see her immediately, but was not looking forward to it. He arrived and as expected smoozed his way past the security guard, a plausible excuse and clipboard combined with a stellar performance being all it took. He took care to disguise himself and had the coded messages with him, layered into a lot of bogus info on the clipboard. He walked up to Nikki and she looked up from her desk, smiled, greeted him by name and asked why the beard and glasses. The agent tried to feint, acting confused and insisting Nikki had mistaken the agent with someone else. The difficulty of this was magnified by the stunning realization that she had used his current name! He saw the knowing look in her eye, tried to stare her down with his confused look one more time, and gave up. Besides, he would blow his cover as soon as she saw the coded messages anyway. He silently pulled them from the clipboard and handed them to her, expecting her to put them away and gloat, relieved when she didn't. Curiosity was worth more than pride at this point. She shuffled them like a deck of cards and squared them together against the top of the deck, explaining how their order of reception didn't matter in the least as long as they were all right side up, and held them up to the bright overhead light. Somehow this guy had done it again, the agent found himself thinking, and then starting chuckling. A really good deep down belly laugh type of chuckle. He hadn't caught the fact the messages were printed on an exceptionally thin bond! When stacked together and viewed while held up to the light, the scribbled parts of letters joined to become Dan's Itinerary for the week of 6/24/02. Monday: The big top is up, the elephants have been washed, let the circus begin! As we turn our attention to the big ring, you'll notice me jumping through several flaming hoops while simultaneously juggling 8 project files and fighting off the lions that have attached themselves to my rear. I'm in the office, which when folded up and placed on a truck looks a lot like Barnum and Bailey intended it to look. Tuesday: I'll be motoring my way up to Hickory Hollow Mall in Nashville today to visit a work in progress. This was my second fully solo project in Pre-construction so I'm all aquiver with excitement about seeing the transmutation that's occurring and will pay close attention to the problem areas that have exposed themselves, while basking in the pleasure of the things that didn't go wrong. I hope there's a lot of basking……... Wednesday: I'll be boarding a plane today to Saginaw, MI in the wee hours of the morning so that I have a whole day to visit the site. I've been here before, will probably be here again at some point, and have yet to find anything remotely interesting about the town of Saginaw, MI….. Thursday: I'll be flying back to dear 'ol Chattanooga today and will expend all effort to return to the office and spend the rest of the day working and toiling away at the important things that demand my full attention. This is my number one priority and what I live for. Yeah….right…….that's the ticket…….number one priority….. Friday: Back in the office today, or rather just close to the office as I attend meetings, meetings and more meetings. While I lament about being in meetings, the alternative of not being in them and not knowing what's going on with my projects is much worse. So…..with a large coffee cup and a smile, I'll be there……. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I awoke with a start again, my body suddenly taunt and sweaty from the
effects of the mysterious dream that must have been re-playing through my
head as I slept. This had been happening
for quite a while now, this case of what I'd started referring to as the flying
twitches. It is that uneasy feeling of falling, that feeling of
inexplicable movement while lying
perfectly still. That gut wrenching, breath stealing, eyes wide open in a nano
second feeling that usually happens when you first start drifting
off to sleep. In my case it had been
happening in the middle of the night. Every night for a month, that is. My life
had been reduced to lethargic
stumbles and bleary-eyed semi-awareness during the day, a time of coffee
by the pot and body movements as slow as that of a tired, ragged-out tree
sloth. I lay there and struggled without results to remember what had brought me
up out of sleep so fast. The unattainable
dream was right there, hiding in the cerebella playground of my mind, dancing
around in celebration of yet another victory as I probed all around it,
but couldn't quite remember even
the smallest detail. I knew it was there. I knew it would return tomorrow night to watch me suffer. I knew I needed professional help. And I
knew I needed it fast.
The sleep disorder clinic was a sterile white building with very little
color and a staff of smiling, alert people who obviously had never
experienced the flying twitches. I had called
and begged for an appointment that day, pleading with a sympathetic sounding
receptionist who at last put me
through to the doctor in charge of the deep-sleep disorder department.
After only two minutes of talk he said he could see me immediately, which
came as both a relief and a
surprise. I arrived with pajamas and a pillow in tow as requested and after a
relatively short wait was shown to Dr. Hamrick's office. He was a large,
gangly man, all knuckle and worn
looking with gray hair and a piercing stare of equally gray eyes and slanted brows. We introduced ourselves with a handshake and the
customary greetings, and I noticed he had
a way of looking into person's eyes that made me feel as if he was attempting to
crawl inside to look around himself
for an answer to my dilemma. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling and
coupled with his smile it actually gave comfort and reassurance.
I had filled out a patient information
sheet in the lobby, which he studied as I walked around his office looking at a
dazzling display of ancient medical instruments and strange stone objects
of unknown origins and uses. After
making a few notes on my profile sheet, he led me to an elevator with only two buttons, up and down, and we traveled an undeterminable
number of feet into the ground to arrive
at an astonishingly large assembly of hallways and rooms. Dr. Hamrick had
listened to my descriptions of the
flying twitches with interest and now he led me to a door marked
"Experimental Deep-Sleep Disorder Identification". This, he
explained as we went inside, was a new
department that was using computer tracking of brain waves to map dormant areas
that became active during the REM (rapid eye movement) stages of
sleep. This is when, he went on to say,
dreams are traveling through the complex neural network of the brain. We passed
one room that was bustling with
electronics and technicians and went into another that was decorated to
look like your average hotel room, complete with generic paintings and a
complementary mint on the bed. Sensors
were stuck to my temples and forehead and he gave me two pills to take, even
though I assured him I could probably fall asleep in a class five tornado
right then and there. The pills
contained chemicals that would travel to the brain and make the signals
amplified, he said, giving a very clear and concise picture of what was
turning me into a walking zombie by
day. He patted my shoulder, turned to leave, and I was asleep before he even
got out of the room.
I jumped back into awareness in the darkened room, momentarily confused
by the unfamiliar surroundings, the
breathlessness and trembling of the flying twitches racking my
body but again with no memory of the dream. Dr. Hamrick came rushing into
the room with an excited look on
his face, holding a long computer printout. With the advances in technology and research, he said, they were certain that the information
he had just gathered was accurate
and complete, and that he knew what had been haunting my slumber for the past
month. He handed me the printout
and all the memories of that elusive dream came rushing to the
surface at last. It was my itinerary for the week of July 1st, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary
July 1st-5th
Monday:
Half
the year and most of my sanity has been swept away here in the office and thrust
into that eternal dustbin we call the past, giving us only the future to
concentrate on. Being the king, or at least the crown prince, of procrastination
I haven't accomplished much in the way of progress on my house and yard
maintenance, but I plan to get to it soon.....real soon.....any day now in
fact...... Tuesday: Today
I have the dubious pleasure of getting in our shared corporate jet and flying to
Panama City, FL. to visit a potential strip center site. I still can't figure
why the term "strip" center, as it brings many things to mind, none of
which are associated with shopping. I'll probably think of the poor souls flying
commercial today and pray for their luggage's safe return to them as I walk that
difficult 8 feet from our plane to the rental car...... Wednesday: Sometimes
I read back on my writing and notice the mangled grammar and poor sentence
structure I tend to use, and I think of my English teacher. She would probably
admonish me for dangling my participles, using double negatives and trashing all
semblances of proper spelling. But if she were here in my office she would
quickly realize that getting the message across quickly and in a way that is
easily understandable is my preferred manner of communication. Usually I
carefully craft my sentences to appear incorrect just to see who's paying
attention........ come
on, you don't buy that, do you? Thursday: Today
is Independence Day, a time to reflect on our break from England and celebrate
the lack of a British accent. I also use this day to think of all the other
things I'm dependant on and decide what things to cut out of my life, like fudge
bars and those little mints they give out at restaurants. As I ponder how far
we've come as a nation and the direction we're heading, I can only wonder if
we're coming full circle into the same governmental over-taxation, limit of
freedoms and religious oppression we parted from in 1776. Don't worry, I'm not
dusting off my soapbox........just yet......
Friday: There
are days when the sun won't shine, when
the skies are dark and nothings fine, when
troubles beat me down into a gathered up ball, and
I brace myself for the inevitable fall. These
are the days when I wish it would end, when
I feel like maybe I'm my only friend, when
I'm in the office and I just can't cope, feeling
worn and frazzled like a frayed out rope. But
then there is Friday and all is well, skies
are sunny and clear as a bell, when
my troubles are swept into a hasty pile, these
are the days you'll see me smile. Have
a pretty darn great, nary a worry in the world type of weekend!!! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ It
was 1990, a year of economic decline, world turmoil, and the year of the Dragon
Lady......
She entered the room as if she had
been the one to imagine it, design it, had bought the materials and then built
it herself. Just like she owned it and everyone within. She entered with the
poise and practiced mannerisms of a seasoned model, walking in that carefully
aligned pattern of footsteps and sway of hips that
left no doubt to the numerous eyes that followed her across the room to
the bar, that she was indeed totally and without a doubt female. The talk among
the crowd dropped to a whisper as alcoholics paused from their liquid diets and
the rest of the patrons delayed their small talk to turn and watch this new
fixture that had just walked into their happy little existence. She wore the red
dress like an aura, a shimmering, silky, wisp of material that seemed to know
where to cling and where to slide, as if trained by only the very best clothing
designers to respond to her movements alone and no others. Her closely cropped
red hair framed a radiant face that held a slight, knowing smile and dark
mysterious eyes full of the awareness that she had managed to make a statement
without uttering a word. The bartender moved with a swiftness none of the crowd
had seen before, magically appearing in front of her with a napkin and a toothy
smile, beaming at her as if she was his savior, there to set him free from his
dreary existence at this dead end job. He started to speak in a squeaky rasp,
cleared his throat, and tried again.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, leaning forward
to catch every small nuance of her reply.
"I'd like a Dragon Tail, with a twist" she responded, her voice
as smooth and fluid as the silk she wore. She wet her top lip with her tongue
and smiled as she watched the bartender's face go blank at this request. He
didn't want to admit that he had never heard of this drink, but he also didn't
want to fail her. For some inexplicable reason failing her seemed to be the
worse possible thing he could ever do.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but I haven't heard of that drink before. What
exactly is in it?" he stammered, looking as if it pained him to admit this.
"It contains single malt scotch, preferably 30 years old or older,
no ice, a dash of bitters, five drops of Tabasco, and this" she said,
holding up a small, clear ornate bottle of a syrupy dark red liquid. The
bartender reached for the bottle, but she pulled it out of his reach before he
could get it.
"You tend to the other ingredients, I'll add the dragon bloo....."
she started to say, then caught herself and amended her sentence. "I'll add
the final ingredient" she finished saying, giving the bartender a wink. He
turned deftly to start building her drink and she turned around quickly,
catching the crowd by surprise, and smiled at the fact all eyes were still on
her. Good, she thought, they wouldn't want to miss this. The bartender finished
his portion of the drink and placed it in front of her ceremoniously, watching
with curiosity as she unscrewed the top of her bottle and poured a small amount
of the red liquid into the glass. She gave him another wink and without
hesitation drank the entire glass in one gulp, pausing only long enough to catch
the twist in her teeth. Her dark eyes seemed to glow like two tiny embers of
fiery coal and the bartender swore he could see a wisp of smoke curl up from her
lips. She produced money and stood up to leave.
"Would you care for another round?" the bartender asked,
unhappy to see this radiant woman leaving so soon.
"One
can only drink a single Dragon Tail per day. To drink more is to invite dire
consequences" she said, and again wet her lips with her tongue, a fast,
darting motion that almost escaped the bartenders attention. But he did see it,
and froze at the site. Her tongue had thinned considerably and was now forked
into two pointed ends. As he stood there fixed in a motionless pose, staring and
trying to comprehend what he'd seen, she leaned across the bar and whispered
something in his ear, something that drained the color from his face and haunted
his dreams for many years to come. Then she turned and left, again causing all
heads to turn and conversation to stop as she crossed the room.
Yes, I remember the Dragon Lady, for I was that bartender, and what she
told me was this Itinerary for the week of July 8th, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary
July 8th - July 12th Monday:
I
usually wonder about many things without ever knowing what the answer is. I can
accept that as a normal situation. But what I can't accept is being in the
office without anything poignant to wonder about at all. It's not quite writers
block, but more like daydreamers block. An unpleasant side effect from the pile
of work in front of me? One can only wonder...... Tuesday: You
can lead a horse to water. You can even take the water to the horse. What you
can't do is beat a dead horse in the mouth. Uh, I mean don't look a gift horse
in front of the buggy. Man, did I mess up again? Don't worry, I'm just horsin'
around here in the office with my horse sense, or lack thereof (you know, horse
play and all.....) Wednesday: I'll
be somewhere, doing something for someone with some misgivings about some of the
situations some people put me in, sometimes. I have some chance of being
somewhat in the office, somehow. And I guess that sums it all up! Thursday: Today
I'm flying Air Perkins to Atlanta, cruising altitude approximately 4 feet off
the ground with a speed of 70 mph+. There will be in flight beverages and snacks
served, but no movie. We'll be enjoying instead the soulful stylings of Pearl
Jam and Metallica, while pausing occasionally to enjoy the fantastic view of
several local fast food restrooms. Thanks for flying Air Perkins!
Friday: Breaking
point, aching
joint, tragic
spill, bitter
pill, nervous
laughter, alone
thereafter, office
space, stressful
place, search
within, treasured
grin, empty
eyes, losers
prize. Have
a splendidly nifty weekend!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The comet was, in astronomical terms, a near "miss", although I
suppose the correct verbiage should really be a near "hit". All the
people of earth held their collective breaths as it came within 120,00 miles of
the earth, crossed our orbital path around the sun, and then sped off towards
the dark reaches of space with the promise of someday returning for another
chance to reset our eco-system back to zero. So the earth continued it's journey
along the same path as always, passing through the wash of thawed gasses from
the comet's tail, and nothing seemed changed. There was much concern among
scientist that the gasses would cause some harm to the ozone layer but this
proved to be a non-event. Everyone congratulated each other for being alive and
celebrations began all over the world. Then, three days later, the ions
in the air changed dramatically, re-polarizing and becoming non-conductive. In
essence, all radio, television, telephone and any other transmissions that were
sent through the air, became extinct. All communication was limited to
physically wired connections, travel in airplanes stopped as radar no longer
worked, long fought wars were put on hold as each country began deliberating and
debating this new situation. And the
seventh day after the comet came and went, dogs began to talk.
It was ironic that man's best friend had been just that for so long and
yet had never been able to utter a word. Man had always known that dogs
possessed exceptionally great hearing, but what he didn't know is that the
barrage of man-made communication waves had overwhelmed their ultrasonic hearing
abilities, in effect drowning them in sounds we couldn't hear with the naked ear
and preventing them from forming words, much like the challenge deaf people have
in being able to talk. Barking created a loud sonic barrier for the dogs during
which they communicated in high pitched bursts of sound unhearable by man,
similar to how silent dog whistles work. The one's we felt were smarter and more
trainable, such as German Shepard's, actually were the ones that didn't posses
good ultrasonic hearing and therefore could hear our commands better through all
the noise than other dogs could, but still couldn't speak. Suddenly this noise
was gone, and dogs began to talk.
I awoke that day to find Cosmo, my mixed breed mutt, sitting patiently
there beside me with his "I really gotta go outside" look. He licked
my face, growled a little in his usual good morning manner, and promptly asked
me if I had slept well. I thought this to be a splendid dream, as I had always
wished he could talk, so I replied that I had slept just fine and that it was
about time he got around to asking. He provided me with a big dog-smile, told me
to hurry, and trotted off towards the door. As I followed I stubbed my toe on
the dresser and thought how real this dream was, complete with pain and all. It
wasn't until I let him in and he thanked me that what had just happened sunk in,
and I realized it was no dream. I called Cosmo over to me and feeling somewhat
foolish, asked him if he could speak. He hesitated, and then said yes, he could.
His voice was gravelly and gruff. He went on to say he didn't know why he could
now, but that he'd always wanted to talk to me. He never could figure out why I
couldn't comprehend the ultrasonic messages contained in his barks, but would
often try anyway, explaining those moments in the past when he would stare at me
and bark expectantly. The sudden absence of airwave interference confused him,
but he was glad it was gone. We talked at length about what it was like to be
canine, what it was like to be human, and my Itinerary for the week of July 15,
2002.
Weekly Itinerary
July 15 - July 19
Monday:
As
of this moment, I'm supposed to be in St. Louis(?). However, this could and
probably will change and I'll end up at the office. To where and what is
anybodies guess. Mine is not to ask why, but to do and die, yada yada yada......
Tuesday: If
not still in St. Louis(?), I'll be in the office, giving lessons to anyone
interested on how I manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, how I
manage to stumble over my own calculated miscalculations and how to bring the
wrath of virtually every person I know down upon me like the torrent storms of
lava from a volcano. It ain't easy being me..... Wednesday: This
the final day that I'll almost maybe but not probably be at St. Louis(?). Pencil
me in as not knowing for sure where I'm going to be at any given time. It's like
an identity crisis has hovered over me, taken aim, and regurgitated all the past
unknowns down onto my head. Rest assured that if you see me wondering around the
office today, I'm not in St. Louis. Thursday: Back
in the office for the fun, games and jocular good times that are sure to go
along with them. Give me an A for effort, a D for desire.
Friday: I'll
stay today until the end, your
friendly friendless friend, We'll
play some games along the way, and
write long letters to send. We'll
watch office clocks commit the crime, ticking
the timely timeless time, and
wait for the final tick of the day, to
find the reason to the rhyme. Have
the weekend you always wanted, but twice as much. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Looking back, I suppose I could have seen things as they really were if I
had been paying closer attention. The group was very tight-knit and seemed to
have their own hidden signals, their own language. They moved like a migrating
flock of birds, all changing direction at the same time, moving as smoothly as
flowing lava, no vocal or visual indicators, just suddenly making their move all
at once. Clearly, Johnny Baker was the leader of this strange assortment of
people. Everyone in the group would look to him when decisions were to be made.
No democracy here, he decided and the rest accepted his decision without
question. It was he that saw me at the coffee shop that fateful day in February,
and decided by some unknown reasoning that I would become a part of the group.
I was sitting in a corner reading a magazine that day when I felt someone
staring at me. It's that weird sixth sense left over from ancient times when
mankind was more attuned to their bodies and surroundings. That unique
perception that someone is watching that no doubt kept many cavemen from
becoming the dinner of a sabertooth or T-Rex. I looked up from the magazine and
into the eyes of Johnny. He didn't look away, nor did the four people with him.
They were all watching me and murmuring to each other in low tones. Feeling
somewhat uneasy to be the center of attention, especially from strangers, I left
some money on the table for the coffee and got up to leave. As I started to pass
them, aware that they were still staring, a girl stood up in my path and locked
her gaze on mine, not speaking, just standing there and staring. She was
exquisitely beautiful, and I realized then they all were probably the most
incredibly good-looking people I had ever encountered as a group. Johnny stood
and walked over to me, still not breaking his stare. He asked me if I liked Zoe,
the girl who was blocking my exit. Now, I didn't know if this was a ploy to pick
a fight or what exactly they were up to, so at first I didn't respond. She
leaned in closer and suggested I should answer, least I should miss out on the
fun later. I nodded yes, still afraid to speak, captured by the smoldering heat
within her eyes as we played that game of who would blink first. Johnny laughed
and said that was great, because Zoe didn't have anyone to take to the bonfire
later that night. She smiled then, a smile that had the effect of yanking my
heart up to my throat where it resided in a loud pulsing lump that I was sure
everybody there could hear. Johnny introduced himself then, and then the others.
He said we were to meet up with the rest of the group at the Fernwood Clearing.
I had heard of this place and that it was supposed to be haunted by the spirits
of witches executed there during the Inquisition. Thinking it would be
interesting, I agreed to join them. Specifically, I actually wanted to learn
more about Zoe. I would end up learning much more.
We arrived at dusk to find the rest already there and the bonfire built.
I counted and thought with wry amusement that including me there were thirteen
of us in Johnny Baker's group. A Bakers Dozen. Johnny lit the bonfire and we
stood around it, watching the flames crawl up the height of branches and twigs,
watched as the flames danced and waved to us, writhing with a life of their own.
I was holding Zoe's hand at this point, and she let go and started to disrobe,
as did the others. She smiled again, and as I'm nowhere near being a prude I
also started taking off my clothes, moving in a dreamlike state, almost as if I
was watching myself from some distant point. The warning bells in the back of my
mind were clanging like mad, but I attributed it to the pounding of my heart and
ignored them. We all joined hands around the fire, and it was then that I
realized I had become the thirteenth member of some obscure Pagan ritual. A
coven, as it were. By this time I wasn't in control of my movements or actions,
so it seemed. We danced wildly around the fire, singing and chanting and
sweating, even though it was only 25 degrees that night. Suddenly we stopped,
and all looked towards Johnny, who was looking at me. He said my name three
times and the others started chanting it. Louder and louder they chanted, until
it filled my very mind and senses. Then they stopped, and as I looked into the
fire I saw things both frightening, intriguing, and unreal within the flames. I
saw my past and future. I saw lost loves, former pets, cars I owned, places I've
been, and my Itinerary for the week of July 22nd, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary
July 22nd - July 26th Monday:
Give
it up Ladies and Gentlemen, for the star of our show today, Mister Who give a
Rat's Butt! Mr. Butt comes to us from parts unknown to our office to preach his
unyielding brand of wisdom, his words to live a half-life by, his specially
packaged, freeze dried, hermetically sealed mantra's of survival. In short, how
not to care while the whole world melts down into a bubbling mess around you.
Ah, it's good to see Mr. Butt again........ Tuesday: I
have to admit that I've become less than complacent about what I do. No fame, no
glory, less than substantial pay. Maybe I'm still in the office for the
friendships and comradery, for the challenge, for the sake of having someplace
to go and something to do. Nope, that couldn't be it........ Wednesday: Have
you ever did sit-ups until you threw up? That's what it feels like some days in
the office as the paperwork piles in and the phone calls turn ugly. That gut
wrenching pain that signals the machine is about to overheat and erupt into a
spasm filled seizure. Maybe I need a vacation........ Thursday: So
things are better today, I bet. I'll stand in the office window and watch birds
fly by, going wherever it is they go. I'm sure the sky will be blue, the sun
will be yellow, and I'll hum a happy tune to myself while I smile and do my work
like the happy, well adjusted drone I've become......... Friday: I
feel the weight of bygone day's, of
all the tragic past, and
in many simple ways, I
know I shouldn't last. I
feel the heat of the hammering sun, outside
the office skin, I'd
break into a stumbling run, if
I wasn't trapped within. Here's
hoping for a weekend that gives all it can, while it can! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The agent came into awareness quickly, his eyes opening with the speed of
a camera shutter and his mind instantly appraising the situation around him,
weighing the few options available for escape. He didn't move or give any
indication he was awake other than that brief flicker of eyes, and he closed
them to the tiniest of slits almost as fast as he had opened them. He listened
for any sounds within the dimly lit room and started the slow process of flexing
his muscles one at a time without any outward appearances of movement, coaxing
circulation back into his arms and legs. The clock on the wall counted off the
seconds, a steady metronome beat that seemed loud in the otherwise silent room.
Time passed and the agent decided to risk another quick look with his eyes wide
open, ever aware that he could be under camera surveillance or that motion
sensors might pick up the slightest twitch. He didn't see anything that looked
like a camera within his range of vision and very slowly he turned his head to
look at the rest of the room. He could see his clothes laying on a chair beside
the bed and he edged towards them, letting his body slide from under the covers
and off the bed like a puddle of slippery oil. Lying on the floor the agent
slithered his way over to his clothes and started dressing, pausing every few
seconds to listen and monitor any noises that might signal someone approaching.
He checked his pants pockets, found his keys where he remembered them being and
gave a inaudible sigh of relief. Maybe he would manage to make a clean getaway
after all. The window looked promising and he crawled over to check it out.
There weren't any security bars or alarm sensors and the lock was a simple turn
screw latch. Not believing his luck the agent unlocked the window and eased it
open an inch at a time, again taking special care not to make any sound. He
looked out and was happy to see it was a ground floor window. His car was parked
just 25 yards away and hopping out of the window, the agent broke for it at a
dead run. He almost made it to the car.
"Hold it right there, Mister!" a voice roared from behind him.
The agent froze in his tracks, obeying the voice that had commanded him to stop.
He recognized this voice and his blood chilled at what he knew would be coming
next.
"You get back here this instant and give me a kiss before you go to
work", his wife insisted from the doorway to their house. "Besides
that, you also forgot your lunch and this Itinerary you're supposed to deliver
to Nikki for the week of August 5th, 2002."
Weekly
Itinerary
August 5th - August 9th Monday:
Here
I am again, playing fortune teller and trying to figure out where, what and with
whom I'll be doing, going, seeing or meeting. The paperwork has built up to a
rather large mound, making me think some industrious beavers have decided to
build a dam on my desk. I'm in the office with an abundance of happiness to
spread....... Tuesday: Since
I was out for a week I haven't planned any trips for this week, but that doesn't
mean I won't have to go somewhere. It could happen at any time. One minute I
could be sitting here, "Ho Hum..... what a great day....", then Bam!
I'm booked for a trip. The uncertainty is maddening sometimes, but I guess
that's what office life is like..... Wednesday: I'm
definitely in the office today due to an appointment at the doctors office.
They'll poke and prod me, take samples of my blood, look in various body
cavities and then present me with an outrageously large bill. I don't know what
portion our insurance will pay, but I'm sure I'll still have a hefty
share........ Thursday: I
may be somewhere besides the office, but if so it may only be a day trip.
I usually like to be returning from trips on Thursdays, not just leaving
for them, because the next day is.......
Friday: There
are times when words are as evasive as good luck and they refuse to cooperate,
hiding and giggling at me as I look in all the nooks and crannies of my mind for
them. Other times they almost bust through my temples in their attempt to be
free, placing themselves at the forefront of every thought until I expel them
just to be rid of the burden of their presence. Maybe I'm unbalanced. Maybe the
office atmosphere causes words to take on different tones and characteristics.
Just maybe....... Have
a nicely structured, tax exempt, wickedly fun weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The small, benign tumor first made it's existence known to me on a bright
sunny Saturday afternoon while I was shopping at the local mall. It came without
any warning or notice, without even the slightest hint that it was about to
change my life forever. One dreams about this sort of thing as an adolescent
teenager or as a kid reading about the adventures of his favorite comic book
hero, but to have it suddenly happen to you in the middle of the day while
surrounded by hundreds of people was rather shocking. At first I thought maybe
I'd snapped completely and should make my way post haste to the local sanitarium
and check in. Then I thought maybe I'd fell, hit my head and was hallucinating
or dreaming. I didn't know at that time what was causing this strange new
perception, only that my visual abilities had changed. Suddenly and
unexplainably, I could see through clothing as if I had x-ray vision.
I was walking along the mall concourse when I started feeling dizzy and
disorientated. Luckily, there was a bench beside me and I sat down and started
rubbing my eyes, which had begun to sting and itch. Someone asked if they could
sit down beside me, and when I opened my eyes and said yes, I saw that the woman
speaking was entirely nude! Speechless, I gawked and stared, searching for words
to ask her why she was unclothed. Before I could find the right combination of
words to create a whole sentence, I realized everyone around me was nude! I
rubbed my eyes again but still the parade of nude people walked past, apparently
unaware or uncaring that their clothes had vaporized. Looking down I was shocked
to find that I also was sans clothing. The lady beside me was middle-aged,
attractive, and had a 6 inch long scar on the back of her right shoulder that
held my attention for just a minute too long, and she noticed me staring. She
asked if there was something on her shirt, straining her neck around to look. I
stammered and then said, no, there was nothing on her shirt, but I was curious
how she had gotten the scar. She gave me a strange look and asked how I knew
about her scar. She started pulling at thin air and I realized that she appeared
to be tugging at a shirt sleeve to cover the scar, a shirt sleeve that wasn't
there. I reached out towards my own arm and sure enough, I felt fabric. I stood
awkwardly, murmured an apology to the lady and headed for my car. All around me
people shopped and strolled and chatted with each other, buck naked as far as I
could see.
I slowed down my walking pace and started thinking about this newfound
ability. I tried squinting and focusing to see if I could control it and see
clothes again. I tried looking with one eye closed at a time. I tried
sunglasses. I tried to see through other items. I noticed that I could see
clothing hanging on the store racks and on mannequins, just not on people. I
watched a man moving in a peculiar fashion and as he contorted and stretched,
the jacket he was taking off appeared in his hands as if by magic. Oddly enough,
I couldn't see the items in everyone's pockets through their clothes, just their
skin. I continued on to my car and headed straight to my doctors office.
I walked into the doctors office and smiled at the receptionist. She
looked very fit with excellent muscle tone and had tan lines that signified just
how small her bathing suit really was. Not a natural blond by any means. I told
her it was an emergency and she directed me to the doctors office. He smiled as
I entered and asked me to describe what problem I was having. I smiled back and
to demonstrate right away that I wasn't crazy, I told him that I
could see through cloth whenever it was being worn and that he had a
dime-sized mole on his left calf that he should have removed. He froze at this
comment and stood there for a moment in thought. Then he said he had a tattoo on
his back and asked me to describe it. I couldn't figure out why anyone would get
a tattoo of a 57 Chevy and told him it was also starting to blur around the
wheels. This persuaded him to accept the fact that I wasn't crazy or having
hallucinations. He asked several questions and suggested that some blood tests
and CAT scans be scheduled, all the while shaking his head in disbelief. He said
I shouldn't tell anyone else about this phenomenon until we could find out why
it was happening and gave me some forms to fill out. I went out into the waiting
room, full of naked people no less, and somehow managed to not gawk at everyone.
Looking at the forms he had given me I found that there were releases for all
the tests he mentioned and some additional items to fill out such as insurance,
liability releases and a blank page to jot down my itinerary for the week of
August 12th, 2002.
Weekly Itinerary
August 12th - 16th Monday:
I
guess being sliced, diced, chopped and turned into julian fries is all part of
being in the big blender we all
love and know as EMJ. Frantic free-for-alls and scrambling for that last donut.
Meetings about meetings and phone calls to find out why people haven't called.
Memos to notify those needing notified and e-mails to inform the uninformed.
Mondays in the office.....there's no comparison......... Tuesday: Today
the office will appear as a mirage on the horizon as we arrive, wavering in the
oppressive heat and flickering in and out of view like a stop-motion movie,
giving us all a moment to pause before diving into whatever turmoil awaits. And
it will be waiting..... Wednesday: I'm
in the office today and was thinking about how I recently attended my 20 year
class reunion, and it was quite the eye opener. The jocks had apparently given
up extra curricula activities that could keep off the weight and taken up sumo
wrestling instead. All the cheerleaders I spent my nights dreaming of turned
into real nightmares and the wallflowers that couldn't get dates in high school
have all bloomed. Ah, such sweet revenge, the passing of time........ Thursday: Today
I'll be going to Cleveland , OH to visit some electrical engineers. It's strange
that you can engineer electricity. Though I suppose just about everything can be
engineered in some fashion or the other. How does the term "engineer"
get to be applied anyway? Couldn't a receptionist be called a Greetings
Engineer? Cooks at McDonald's would become Food service engineers, and a
proctologist.....well........Caboose Engineer? Hmmmmm.........
Friday: Still
in Cleveland, OH but planning on returning at some point today. It may be,
probably, possibly, definitely could be that it will be during the night hours.
I normally like to be here on Fridays because that's when all the smiling faces
are present. Maybe I'll fax a smiley in to be posted on my door. Have
a non-freeze dried, no sugar added, sodium free type of weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The apprentice struggled mightily with his cumbersome burden, balancing
it with much effort and concentration across his shoulders, a precariously
packed cloth bundle that contained all the needed nostrums and appurtences his
master had listed. He had spent many hours at the market haggling and bartering
with the vendors, selecting some items only to put them back in favor of ones
more suitable. The master was extremely picky about ingredients, a lesson the
apprentice had learned through a brutal flogging when he had last visited the
market and had mistakenly chosen poorly. As he approached the cave entrance he
swallowed the lump that had began to build up in his throat and steeled himself
for the ordeal that always seemed to follow whenever he returned.
"No need to panic, no need to panic, you found everything you were
ordered to get" he repeated over and over to himself in a small whisper
that sounded more like a whimper as he paused to recite the spell that opened a
hidden entrance to the cave. The master had granted him limited power which
included simple spells and charms, none of which were of much use to the
apprentice. Unfortunately, he hadn't perfected a good luck charm yet. He could
really use one.
The passages within the cave were as inviting as the inside of a coffin,
long damp corridors that had an unearthly greenish glow coming from the
walls that illuminated small, mean eyes watching from the shadows. There was a
sickening crunching sound from time to time as the apprentice stepped on various
crustations and insects that were not fast or smart enough to avoid his
approach. He finally reached the main chamber and felt his heartbeat speed up
dramatically as he saw the master standing in the center of the room drawing a
diagram on a old piece of parchment. As quietly as possible he sat the bundle
down and rubbed his aching shoulders, watching in fascination as the master
worked. He watched with a mixture
of fear, admiration and desire, for the master was as beautiful as she was
demanding and powerful. She turned towards the apprentice and glanced at the
bundle on the floor.
"Pick that up and bring it to me" she ordered, indicating with
her hands where the apprentice was to place the load. He woefully stooped down,
still tired and sore from the 4 mile walk from the village and the back breaking
weight of the goods, and struggled to stand back up, all too aware of her
demeaning smirk at his weakness. He didn't really care, as any apprentice would
kill to be training under this incredible creature. He placed the package where
she pointed and unwrapped the cloth. She started going through the items,
occasionally grunting approval or tisk tisking at something that seemed
sub-standard. Suddenly she shrieked and whirled around to face him, a sound and
move that froze him in place and caused his blood to turn as cold as ice.
"You forgot it! You moron! You incompetent goofball!" she
screamed, reaching for her whip. The apprentice could only stand there and
tremble, not sure what item she was referring to as he mentally checked off the
items he had brought. She saw his confusion and paused, the whip high above her
head and ready to lick it's leather across his cowering figure. She wasn't sure
if she had told him to pick up the one thing she needed the most.
"I'll let you off the hook this time" she said, the irony being
that there actually was a hook she'd hang him on when displeased. She wouldn't
admit her mistake to the lowly apprentice, however.
"Go back to the village" she growled,
"and don't come back until you have Dan's Itinerary for the week of August
26th, 2002."
Weekly Itinerary
August 26th - August 30th Monday:
Ah
yes, it's a Monday in the office. A day of reckoning, I reckon. A day of
imagining, I imagine. A day of supposing, I suppose. I wonder, will it be a day
of wonderfulness? I guess it may be a day of guessing, but also possibly a day
of possibilities. Are you seeing a pattern to this patter yet? Tuesday: Today
is a "traveling in the sky" day as I go to St. Louis, MO. I find
myself sometimes trying to guess the occupations of fellow travelers by the way
they're dressed. Maybe I'm wrong, but there sure are a lot of used car salesmen
and hookers traveling in the air these days........... Wednesday: Still
in St. Louis, MO today. I probably have a bad case of the "wanna be home
blues" by now, something that I've noticed more and more of as time passes.
While I'm versatile in my demeanor and can usually handle being alone, I prefer
being around friends. Maybe somehow I draw strength from them, because when
traveling I always seem pooped and depressed.......... Thursday: I've
spent some time in the office that falls above and beyond the work hours. Many,
many times I've caught airplanes at 6:00AM and stayed on the job site until
11:30PM (that's a 17 ½ hour workday). I've stayed
late when needed, came in early when needed, missed lunches when needed.
Now I find out that due to my unexpected hospital stay the management may
require me to take those sick days as vacation time, which is ironic since I've
already used 2 vacation days for recovery from that same surgery. OH Boy, what
great fun I had!.......... "Hey Dan, why so stressed? You have a whole ½
of a vacation day left!" Maybe I can drive to Hixson and back for
vacation......Woo Hoo!......... (just
better not get sick before October)
Friday: Try
to see where the hammer will fall quickly, Try
to be happy and not at all sickly, Count
the health you're blessed with and count your days, Your
wealth may be messed with in too many ways. Be
at work long beyond the open hours, don't
expect the perk of stopping to smell the flowers, Don't
have a life outside these office walls, It
cuts like a knife when the hammer falls. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Pursuit of Sandy Monet ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Silent Partners
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
To a Different Drum
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When Court Jesters Retire
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Paging Dr. Chu
Note: Dales
reply below was written by Dale Sparks. Thanks Dale! Your insight was out of
sight! Dales Reply to Dan's Itinerary
Methodically, he vainly attempted to pound away at his keyboard while thoughts of a rebellious-even sarcastic nature inundated every
fiber of his being. This feeling was compounded and made even worse with the knowledge that he should be doing something else. Dale also knew that while he tapped at his machine, any one of a given number of his bosses could simply "pop" into his office and catch him red-handed doing that which his job description did not provide for. Still, he belabored his rectorial task, searching (quite embarrassingly) the shallow depths of his limited economy with words.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Luck Runs Cold ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jack in the Box
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
An Uncovered Cover-up ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Safe
Cracker
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The moment Andy hit the tree he knew it was going to hurt. And it did. For just a second, maybe even a nano-second, and then everything went black. He woke in what seemed to be only a moment to him, shaking his head to clear the stars, and then immediately began checking his bike for damage. But it wasn’t his bike. He had never seen this bike before! He still had the handlebars gripped in one hand, had never let go in fact, but they were not the ones he had started the bike ride with. Andy froze, his mind trying to get around what was happening but unable to find a starting point. He scratched his head and felt a long scar across his temple, the ridges standing out enough to make it feels like a brail roadmap. Now he became really freaked out. That hadn’t been there before either! As he struggled to figure it all out, Pete rode up behind him and jumped from his bike before it even stopped, reaching Andy and supporting his head. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled. “Man, after the last wreck you had like this, the doctors said another one could break your neck, remember? I’m just glad to see your not out cold and we don’t have to sit by you for a month again while your lazy ass is in a coma”, Pete barked back “So calm down and be still. That’s better.” Andy had indeed become still. He looked again at the strange bikes both of them were riding. He didn’t remember a coma. His clothes were strange to him. And suddenly he noticed Pete had a beard. He didn’t have it 10 minutes ago. A terrifying thought hit him. “Pete, what year is it?” “Oh, that’s some funny shit” Pete laughed. Then he noticed the straight face and wide eyes staring back at him. “Are you serious?” “Where’s my blue lightspeed bike?” he whispered, just loud enough for Pete to hear. “You totaled that two years ago when you had the wreck that put you in the coma. Are you o.k? It’s 2005” “Pete, the last thing I remember is hitting the tree on the lightspeed, and now here I am. I don’t remember the last two years. None of it.” Pete remained motionless as he thought back to the last two years, and how everyone had said Andy seemed to be different after the accident. He had made a full recovery, according to the amazed doctors, after undergoing surgery to take splinters out of his scalp and to relieve the pressure on his brain. Pete felt Andy had been a little strange at first, but had also liked the change a little. What everyone referred to as the “new” Andy was a side that Pete had always felt Andy possessed but had never let take control. Then something dawned on him. “Andy, I think your subconscious took over your body while you were in the coma and became your conscious. To you it’s only been a few seconds since that crash. To us it’s been a few years. This crash must have jarred your subconscious back into it’s rightful place and returned your conscious mind to the control room upstairs. Think really hard. Maybe if we, in our conscious state, can sometimes let our subconscious take over, then we can tap subconscious memories there too.” Andy closed his eyes and thought hard, concentrating through the pounding headache that was starting to develop. Images started to form that he previously had not remembered. “Hey, I do
remember something! Something I read right before today’s trip, or rather my
subconscious read, that I found in a of a bunch of old papers at the bottom of
my desk drawer. It was Dan’s itinerary for the week of February 25th,
2003.”
Monday: The week promises to be a good one…..at least I’m holding out hope. Being Mr. Dad during the day today here at the office is actually something I look forward to, having missed out on a lot of my first son’s infant life while serving in the military. Anyone who thinks military life is easy, think again. The time away from family is the worst part…… Tuesday: I’m out and about on the town today, running errands the first part of the day and working at a client’s office the second half of the day. What do I do? Follow the link below to DP Drafting to find out more………. Wednesday: Another hump day. The mind (subconscious mind?) conjures up several images of what that could be, in a literal world. But it means getting to the middle of something tall and hitting the downhill side. Some also refer to this situation as being “over the hill”. But you almost never have heard of someone calling this day “Over the Hill Day”. Unless your 40th birthday happens to fall on a Wednesday, that is…….. Thursday: Today finds me back out in the traffic and maniacs, maybe in the rain if last weeks trend continues. Roads are starting to resemble the rugged off-road terrain that the people with trucks and SUVs seem to desire so bad. I propose we just let them all turn to gravel and everyone has to walk or ride a bike after the ruts get so deep even the SUVs can’t get thru. Ah, simpler times………….. Friday: I’m in the office today, working towards another day when at the end there’s only two more working days until Monday again. That’s not meant as a complaint by any stretch of the imagination, but rather as a pre-curser to the weekend. I’m glad to have good clients and work to do, especially since I enjoy my work. And you got to enjoy your work, or it become a chore……… Have a sippin’, rippin’, non-trippin’, wet and drippin’ but not slippin’ type of weekend! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ As the smiling man talked to me in a fast and nasally twanged voice, pumping my hand up and down and carrying on like we'd been best friends all our life, I had a brief flashback to junior high school. It was a clear picture that terrified me right away and I listened to the smiling man and let him pump my hand up and down, staring into his tiny black eyes but not seeing them at all, and a mad little voice (not mad as in angry but as in insane) started screaming somewhere way back in my mind to let go! Let go now! But I didn't. I couldn't. I was there again in the seventh grade and it was the fourth day of school that year. 'Yep, I was one of the big kids now', I told myself as I strolled around the schoolyards alone, exploring all the nooks and cranny's of this new place. No one had warned me about high school bullies and since I had survived the grade school wars and had found a safe place in the pecking orders that get established by small children from year one, day one, I had lulled myself into a false sense of comfort and safety. And I was about to pay a dear price for it. I turned a corner and stopped immediately, engulfed in a smoke cloud from several cigarettes that hung there five feet off the ground, unmoving as though it hated to leave the dear company of the owner it had just polluted. I froze for a brief second as the gravity of where I was sunk in. The fact that five large boys were looking at me with hate in their eyes wasn't as bad as the fact that one of them was playing with a piece of string and smiling. Don't be misled dear reader, it wasn't a bad smile, it was actually a friendly smile. The truly disturbing part was that the eyes were all wrong for the smile. They were tiny little eyes set in a huge head, dark and piercing eyes. Beady almost. And they didn't seem to be getting the message from his mouth that he was happy. They were angry eyes, set in an angry person. All but the smile. It mesmerized me and I froze for just a nano second too long. "Hey guys, if you measured a nano second on a piece of string, using the distance from the earth to the moon as a full second, you'd get roughly a one foot piece of string," I heard myself tell them from somewhere far away as a rushing sound, like that of a big wave at the beach, seemed to invade my head and left everything else sounding like it came from the bottom of a fifty-five gallon drum. Later in life I would recognize this as what happened as the blood rushed to your face when you flushed in embarrassment. Or fright. I silently admonished myself for sounding like a geek. Damn that science class I had just left! They stood there glaring at me and the smiling boy walked over to where I stood. There was no glances among them, it was like they knew he'd walk over, that he was the one who enjoyed this scene the most and wouldn't give it up easily. He stood there and just kept smiling. The others were still smoking and blowing it right at me, causing me to hold my breath as much as possible. I realized that I was probably going to get my ass kicked badly and started trying to mentally review what I knew about the best way to stop nosebleeds. The smiling boy held up his string. "So if I made you swallow this string, you could choke on a nano second, huh?" he smiled at me, swinging the string back and forth as if it was a juicy noodle that I should be happy to eat. The gang of future cancer patients chortled and laughed and pounded each other on the backs with coughing fits, then returned their icy glares back to me. He seemed to think it was pretty clever and I did too. I started smiling back at him. It wasn't as hard as you might think. I knew I was going to get creamed, so why not go out in style, smiling? Even at that precocious age I had class. I stared up at him and gave him my best smile, enjoying my teeth one last time. "How about instead I show you a rope trick?" I stammered and reached out, grabbing the string before he could react. It was as flimsy as I had thought and I easily broke off a small piece in my hand without him knowing. He just smiled and smiled and watched me as I went into the Mystic. That's what my grandfather used to call his magic tricks when he performed for the grandkids. Nothing fancy or hard, and he'd always show us big -eyed kids afterwards how it was done. We'd practice and practice and save the tricks for our very closest friends, waiting for just the right moment like in the tree house or on the creek banks fishing, then take them into the mystic just like Grandpa did us, showing them the secret at the end. It was a special time, being in the mystic. You had people hanging on your every move and word, waiting for you to dazzle them. And dazzle them you did, making them gasp and clap, amazed that you were such a clever boy. Then with all the trappings of mystery and intrigue you could muster, you'd revel the secret and watch as the look came into their eyes of understanding. Then you'd lean way in close and whisper to them, "You're in the Mystic now, you know. You're there." I started the rope trick. It was a easy one yet very effective. I palmed the small piece of rope and pretended to brake the large piece in half in front of him. The other punks behind him went silent and started forward, thinking I was messing with him by breaking his string. He held up a hand and they stopped. He was still smiling. Maybe he has a medical condition, I thought. Maybe he has to smile and is about to kill me. I kept on going with the trick. The moves with the rope were still fluid and fast then, my fingers still young and recently practiced. I quickly doubled the still whole piece of rope and passed the small hidden piece through the loop. I hid the looped place with my thumb and let the two ends of the small string fall forward and the two ends of the long string fall to the back. It gave the appearance there were two separate strings of the same length. He was still smiling and waiting. I supposed he might wait a bit longer and went right into my spiel. "Now as you can see there's two pieces of rope the same length. I know this rope was very dear to you" (oh why couldn't Grandpa have used a better spiel?!) " so have no fear, I shall dip ever so briefly into the Mystic and repair it for you!" I stated with every ounce of conviction I had. The others were watching now too, forgetting to smoke their cigarettes and standing slack-jawed, watching as I tried to defy the odds of living to see tomorrow. I went on with the event. After showing them the trick I would let them in on the Mystic. I tied the two ends of the small string around the middle of the long string, making it appear that I'd tied the two equal pieces of string together by their ends. "Ta-da!" I squeaked, "now it is whole again!" and held up a piece of string with an apparent knot in the middle. He still smiled while the others looked on in shock. How could I be still breathing after doing that to his string? This was my moment, this was when the Mystic had a hold on them the most. I kept smiling and wondered inside if a body cast itches very badly. "Now, if you don't like the knot, we'll use the Mystic to remove it, but I need your help. After all, it is your string", I calmly said. And I was calm. Beating or not, I had them in the mystic and nothing could take that away now. I reached out and put my hand on his, pulling it up and clasping it around the knot. He held it there, smiling and staring the tiny smile. I kept my smaller hand around his, after all, it was my magic and I wanted to pass it through his hand. "Now," I whispered in a grave robbers voice, a small and wary voice, as if saying the next part too loud might invoke the very dead to walk again, "now slowly grip the string and pull the knot off, leaving one long string again". And he did. He smiled and pulled the knot, which was really the small piece I had broken off and concealed, off the long string and stood there, smiling even bigger if it was possible. The others murmured and I though one said that the trick was pretty good. I wasn't sure, because he and I was in the mystic totally. He looked at the string and the knot and knew there was a trick to the trick. I leaned in as close to him as I dared and whispered. "You've been into the mystic, my friend. A mystical experience in another realm. And I can show you and only you how it was done. How you were transported there, and how to take others." His never wavering smile still beamed at me, and he nodded. A slight nod, but a nod none the less. Without a word he walked past me and I followed him around the corner where I showed him the secret. He had me show him twice, then still smiling, walked away. We never spoke again after that and he eventually dropped out of school, but the word was out somehow that I had outsmarted getting a beating by the toughest guy in school, and was now under his protection, because I had taken him there, no doubt. I ended up with the nickname Nanosecond, which followed me all through collage even. The mystic saved my life, or at least my smile, that day. And here I was now, cast back through time by what? The smiling man finished trying to draw water with my arm and asked if I'd sign a petition. I said sure, still brushing cobwebs out of my head, when it dawned on me. It was him! The smiling man was the guy! He turned back towards me and yes, was still smiling. I had no doubt about it. He handed me a piece of paper and a pen, smiling all the while. I looked at the paper and realized that he didn't recognize me these 30 years later. I also realized that the petition I was about to sign was to get Dan to write a new Itinerary for the month of October, 2004.
October, 2004: Week one: Well boy howdy! After a long snoozing roll in cruise control, I'm back into the old ID, rummaging around in the gray matter upstairs and trying to decide just what to write. A lot of time has passed since the last itinerary. My son is now almost two years old and being self-employed is great! I'll be in and out of the office this week. Monday finds me in Alabama helping my father build a front porch. Tuesday thru Thursday I'll be in the office working on the computer and Friday I'm back into Daddy mode, watching Kyle grow yet taller. Week two: This week may be more convoluted with yard work than I'd care for, but it's quickly speeding towards fall, so it's got to be done. Hopefully Monday will be the completion of the porch at my parents house. Tuesday I will probably be out of he office, but here Wednesday and Thursday. Friday is always a day for parenting, but I keep my phone handy (usually but not always). Week Three: This week is the week before the Alabama-Tennessee football game. Woo Hooo! It's the only sport I ever watch, so I'm in my element when it's football season. Roll Tide! If you haven't guessed by now, my off days are Mondays and Fridays and I spend them with my son. I do work on the weekends, but I don't provide info here on those days as they change often and I never know just where I'll be then. I'm in town all week, in the office probably. Week four: I'm not sure how the monthly format will work, but the story was easier to write knowing that I didn't have to pull another one out in three days! I decided it can be longer than the self-imposed 2 pages I used to keep it down to. The weekly part is tough, as I don't know that far in advance what I'll be doing or where. Guess the best policy is to update more often! Halloween is at the start of next week as this is a long month. Watch out for trick-or-treaters, especially a little boy dressed as an elephant! Have a
dyed in the wool pulled over your deer in the head lights in the sky type of
month!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The knock on my door woke me from a pretty nice dream, one in which I found myself drifting just on the cusp of being awake, but still aware of being in the dream. A lucid dream I think they're called. The knocking on the door
coincided with the banging of a drum in my dream, an unsteady and un-rhythmic sound, then....awake. I rolled across the bed, stopping only long enough to notice it was 6:00 am, sharp. I looked out my bedroom window, knowing before I did who it would be. Sure enough, it was Pat the Borrower! Pat was one of those great, fun, likable guys who could tell a joke at any moment and on any subject, could keep up his end of any conversation and always seemed ready to do anything for his friends. Anything except return borrowed items that is. It was a
character trait that most of his friends had resigned themselves to, not wanting to harm what was otherwise a perfect friendship. I had resolved to fix the problem after watching my tools and
possessions suffer in his care. It was bad enough that he never returned anything unless someone asked for it back, but in every case the borrowed item would be in worse conditioned than when loaned to him, and never clean. I found myself building up a collection of old, used
decrepit tools that I had bought new and never gotten to used myself. That is, when I got them back at all. In a few cases I had loaned Pat tools that he'd broken or damaged and promised to replace, but only after I'd asked him about it several times. When the promised replacement finally arrived it would always be the cheapest, lowest quality knock-off of the tool I had loaned. The final straw was when I had loaned an electric space heater to him, only to have him inform me later that
he didn't have it to return, but had in fact given the heater away to another friend who needed it apparently more than the owner, me. Week 1: This week brought many things to the forefront of the worlds attention. Most importantly, the re-election of the president. As you can tell, I'm writing this as a post-itinerary for week #1, just so I can comment on the election. Previously I had always referred to that office as being held by an imposter who was appointed by the courts and not the people. Since it was won by a majority vote this time I can now say it's held by a person who gained 51% of the voters approval. I was puzzled why so many people wanted him back after suffering through the worst record of any president for the last 70 years until the exit polls showed that a large number of people cited religious morals as their reason for voting to keep the incumbent. As the separation of church and state crumbles around our heads, a separation that our founding fathers were wise enough to incorporate into the constitution even though they were Christians themselves, the religious zealots throughout the country celebrates their new power and control over the rest of the country. "Zealots?" you say. Yep, our old friend Webster defines zealot as "partisan", which is what the country has become, with the so-called religious right(?) squared off against the rest of the country, called the liberal left. Rather than have any religion control my beliefs, my thoughts or my life, which appears to be the goal of almost every religion I've encountered, I've resigned to become a "freedom" zealot. A freedom zealot can be anyone who loves and desires freedom from all controlling organizations or administrations, be they governmental or religious. A freedom zealot can practice their chosen religion, of course, but refrains from force-feeding their beliefs down the throat of other freedom zealots. A freedom zealot knows structure and law is necessary to prevent chaos, but rejects invasive legislature designed to limit privacy, such as the Patriot Act. Freedom zealots unite!!
Week 2: As the month rolls on I'm preparing for the birthday of my younger son Kyle. He'll be two years old and is growing at a quick rate. I'll post some birthday pictures next month. I'll be in the office most of the week I think, and I'm interviewing for a part-time draftsman to help me get more projects out the door faster, so if you know AutoCAD, call me! I'll be also keeping an eye on the war in Iraq and other social issues that concern me and though it's hard not to comment on these developments I'll strive to keep the itineraries light-hearted and fun, and not turn them into a political forum. That's never been my agenda, though it sometimes appears to be........ Week 3: Reflecting on the past can bring smiles and tears to even the strongest of people. I've always wanted to look forward and not re-digest past regrets, so I've decided to abstain from political or religious commentary here in the office. These itineraries came into being as a device to spread fun and laughter and tell people where I may be, maybe, not as a bully pulpit. Plus as a freedom zealot, I respect each individuals right to think and feel about these subjects the way they want to. Far be it from me to even think about influencing the thoughts of others. Live and Let Live! Week 4: Happy Thanksgiving! This year has given me a lot to be thankful about and I like to pause while here in the office to thank the people in my life who made it possible. It's a time to be with family and start getting fat for the winter, something I never have a problem doing. So eat big, think small, keep laughter high and troubles low....enjoy! Have a sappy, zappy, slap-happy but still snappy
month!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ It was almost time for the GOTTA STOP brake commercial that the DJ absolutely abhorred, that one spot that could grind up your spine and turn it into a fine white powder just by the very octaves that he voiceover artist could reach as she screeched the motto out, "If you can't stop, that's the brakes!" The DJ had tried every trick in the book and had even invented a few new tricks on the computer, all in vain, to tone down that insidious screech. All the other radio personalities and tech-heads had tried also, of course each in private and in clear violation of one of the unwritten or spoken rules in the business, i.e. never screw with the audio nuances of the commercials, least the advertisers get pissed off and leave for another broadcast network. But it was the Screech, dammit! And in each case nothing worked. It was as if this woman had the vocal cords of Satan's wife and the only way to keep from hearing that unearthly sound was to turn the radio off or way down low.
“Tis The Season!” shouted the department store Santa in my ear as I walked out of the local Mega Super Gigantic Buy Everything Here Mart. I say local in the block reference, meaning one on every block. I had just bought a few rare finds, some things made in the USA, and was beaming with pride and a sense of accomplishment at my 19.95 purchases of things I didn’t need or even really want. That didn’t stop me from doing my part to keep jobs in America, I reflected. “’Tis The Season!” he bellowed again. And I stopped. Why, Oh why did I stop?? “Yeah, and what makes it "The Season?” I shot back, feeling a momentary pause in my pride beaming, “Why is it “The” Season?” I pressed for answer. He closed his mouth, which was already opened wide for another ‘Tis The Season, and stared at me like I was out of my mind. Then he opened it again. “Well, for starters, it adds Flavor and Spice to the holidays, bringing joy to everyone who…..” he started, and I stopped him. “Do you think just because you feel that way that the rest of the world does, or wants to hear about it from you?!?” I spat at him. Yes, spat. I had a small chip in my tooth that for some reason would pump out saliva just a little if I yelled too loudly. Talk about having a reason not to yell. But I was in the moment, so I spat some more. “Maybe we don’t all think that way about “The Season” or have every in our miserable lives tasted the “Flavor”. Spice? HA! What Spice? I’m totally alone in this rotten cesspool of a town, each and every Holiday. All I ever taste is the bitter, stale air that I breathe in my little crummy hole of an apartment,” I continued, being on a rant that crawled up out from somewhere deep down, in a place that I didn’t even know I had. “Every year we all hear about "The Season", with the incessant carols and grubby department store Santa’s, the bells ringing and, and…..” I had to stop. My goodness, what had come over me? He just stood there with that bewildered look on his face, watching me go off, as the many years of being alone for the holidays snapped me like dried twigs. He didn’t blink, smile, frown or even twitch, just stared. I felt a few dozen pairs of eyes on me and turned around to find that everyone who’d been leaving the store just then had stopped to watch in amazement and yes, some in disgust, as in one long tirade I had accosted this guy who was not only just doing his job, but was also trying to spread good cheer to them at the same time. One elderly lady ambled over to me and said, “Leave him alone, you bully, he’s just trying to sell “The Season”. And it set me off again. “Lady, I don’t care what you say or what he's selling, if I don’t want to buy into “The Season”, I won’t buy into “The Season”. I have nothing to change my mind, nobody at home to show me otherwise. "Try it", Santa says….. "taste the flavor and spice", Santa says. Why should I? Where was "The Season" when I was a young child, starving?” I finished, turning from her back to Santa, as if he’d try to provide me the answer. And he did. “Young man, surely you don’t blame “The Season” for your rotten childhood or what appears to be an even more rotten and lonely life” he said, with finally a small smile. “It’s not “The Seasons” fault that it wasn’t around back then. Here, just give it one taste” and with that he turned and picked up a tray of chicken, beef and pork treats, all with tiny toothpicks in them, and a little cup for the used picks to be deposited in after you’d enjoyed the treat. He smiled even more at me and held out a clean napkin for me to use, as I finally looked past my misplaced anger and irrational rage, and past Santa, and saw a large sign proclaiming: ‘Tis The Season! Thanks for trying our New and Improved meat seasoning, just in time to add Flavor and Spice To Your Holidays, bringing joy to all who tastes’ it! Brought to you by “The Season” spice company, and Dan’s Itinerary for the week of November 28th, 2004 Monday: Hi Dee Ho! Ho! Ho! Faithful Readers! It’s almost that time of year again where the opportunities exist to be someone you may not be the rest of the year, to hold yourself up to the mirror and reflect, as you reflect, on the things, places, people who carried you or crushed you, or maybe even saved you. It’s a time to pull your covers, and vulnerabilities, up tight around yourself, up to your very eyeballs, and stare off into the pitch black all night long, wondering what you can do to redeem yourself in the eyes of those who may see you as a failure, as a success, or even as a enemy. I’ll be homing in as the homeboy homer homebody here at home…whew…today. Smiles are free and non-taxable to give and receive… Tuesday: You can bet your sweet bippy, those of you that have bippys that is, that the year is gathering the speed of a colossal snowball rolling down Mt. Everest here in the office as it smashes all semblance of order and everything in it’s path. This snowball is money of course, in the symbolic sense, and the snowballs size is in relationship to need, not supply. We’re at crunch time, Captain Crunch-for-dinner-every-other-night time, that is, as the cost of everything we pay for and everything we owe for goes up, up, up... but not the income. Add in the additional holiday spending as we spread the cheer thick and the peanut butter thin and you have happy-go-lucky bag lunches. The saying “tighten your belt” is a cruel one, but one that does provide motivation to help keep me from tripping over my pants…or what they contain…. Wednesday: A mossy rolling stone gathers no groupies…. wait, that isn’t right. A gathering of mossy groopies roll and get stoned? Hmmm…nope (well, yes actually). A gathering on the moss rolls stones? Dang, it’s here somewhere….ah ha!…Get stone cold drunk on Rolling Rock beer while watching Randy Moss gather touchdowns! I’m in the office today figuring out the same hidden meanings and names to a saying by any other rose….whoops! Thursday: When I got a letter here in the office asking me some personal questions about the origins of a story, I directed the reader to my FICTION disclaimer at the bottom of the first page you reach if you’ve found yourself this reading this far. That wasn’t meant as a short sighted way of quelling a question, but as a reminder, which I feel compelled to repeat here, that I don’t write about actual events or people. These stories are my escape into my own self-effecting, self-absorbed, self-serving world. I go there to get away from reality, not to bitch or complain or cry about it or the people in it. That happens sometimes after the story, but never during. But I do encourage people to write…. Friday: It’s really hard to be alone, With no one to hear me cry or moan, I resist the urge to use the phone, For spreading sorrow I can’t condone. I talk to the walls and I talk to myself, I talk to lit candles living up on a shelf, Each is shaped like a hotheaded elf, And they’ll flicker their replies until none are left. I wonder just what could ever be fair, About banning noise pollution from everyone’s air, It may be noise but maybe I don’t care, At least I can hear something out there. Have a middle of the beginning to the end of your week!
As I sit here on the mountaintop and watch the hapless hiker draw ever so nearer to my stone chair, I smile the first smile I’ve ventured to try in many moons. I think back to when I was much younger and smiles came easier and more often. Those times didn’t seem that long ago, although I’m an old man now. The hiker stumbled nearer and my mind wandered further back, past the smiles, to when I was that hiker. I had planned the hike based on years of research. Years of conjecture and ridicule by my peers, too. As a historian with a strong pull towards the obscure, maybe hiscurian or obstorian…if you’re inclined to play the label game, my passion lay in identical symbols and glyphs that appeared regularly throughout man-kinds history, from crop circles all the way back to cave paintings. Assembled in the historical order they appeared, the symbols usually repeated the same pattern over and over. They took many long years of study, but then I finally realized the pattern lead to not to a thing or event, but to a person or place. I had traced the place to this very mountaintop. It was a grueling hike that at times almost did me in, a hike that offered the wildest landscape I’d ever seen. The trail had often disappeared and just stopped, either at a boulder wall or at a sheer cliff. But I kept going, forever climbing up, using the pull of gravity to direct me while it tugged me back all the while. Up to the boulder on top and the chair carved in stone that I now sat in.
The chair had an occupant in it when I arrived, torn and spent, to the top that day. An old man sat there as I now sit, although his eyes sparkled and shone like a 12 year olds at Christmas. He smiled and smiled and nodded as I approached and appeared to be chanting a short mantra, his lips moving in the smile, a slight wisp of his voice carried on the wind. It was not an old mans voice. His beard was long and gray and he was naked. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, as I dragged myself to the top. I was as amazed that I had not broken anything, and more amazed that he’d been waiting for me and was naked. “I followed the symbols here,” I answered and he nodded, chuckling. “Yep, so did I, way back when. Hiscurian or Obstorian?” he twinkled at me, and I felt myself start to grow numb. How had he known? “Uh…..obstrorian I guess. So you know why I came? What I’m here for? What the symbols promise to reveal to the person who decodes them?” I asked, still gasping for breath in the thin air. “Oh yes indeed, I know” he said, “I did the research too. The Secret of Life that leads to the Fountain of Youth. Congratulations, you’ve found them both. They're here.” I stood there and knew my jaw had dropped open. A real proverbial wise man on the mountaintop of knowledge? Every goofy hallmark birthday card and every Frank-n-Ernest comic strip that featured a wise-man on a mountain danced in my mind as I tried to wrap it around what was happening. He stood up from the big stone chair and motioned me over. I lifted my weary body and climbed the last few feet up the steps carved below the chair. “What’s the secret?” I blurted out, not caring how impatient I sounded or was. “If the fountain is here, where is it? Come on, this is the greatest discovery of our time!” I went on, and he still smiled and twinkled at me. “OK, I’ll tell you, but are you sure you want to know? It’s a big responsibility, knowing the secret.” “YES!” I shouted, afraid my heart would stop before I would know the secret. “Happiness is Everything” he replied. “Yes, I agree, the answer will make me very happy, so what is it!” I demanded. He looked me in the eyes and waited for me to get it. “That’s it? Happiness is Everything…… that’s the secret?” I squeaked. “Think of every person in the world. What do they seek in this life or the afterlife? Even the most evil, vile wretches that crawl up from the neither regions of hell want to do whatever unspeakable things they do to make themselves what…? Yes, happy. Everything is tied to happiness, and happiness is tied to everything. It’s the human condition that chases the spiritual condition. When people learn to both accept and spread happiness, they will realize happiness is indeed it’s own reward. It’s everything everyone wants, times infinity.” He paused then, studying me to see if I understood the secret. And I did. I did! “Happiness is Everything” I said, believing it for the first time. And then it happened.
“There’s a second part,” he softly said, and gently pushed me back till I was standing at the chair. He put both hands on my shoulders and sat me in the chair. My skin started to crawl and wither, moving as if it had a life of it’s own, independent of the life I’d given it for so long. It shriveled and shrunk, drawing up tight and getting course, as what was left of my hair turned gray and my beard grew long. I was growing old in a matter of seconds. But I had to know the secret! “What’s the second part?” I asked, surprised that my voice still sounded the same, as he turned and started pulling my spare clothes from my pack and putting them on. “If you’re willing to pay the price” he said. “I’d say I am willing, wouldn’t you? Look at me!” I shouted, finally tearing my eyes away from my withering arms and staring into his face. And look at me he did, from his smooth and young redbearded face. As I had grown older, he’d grown younger. The chair…..that was it, when I sat in the chair! And it hit me. That was the second part. “Happiness is Everything… if you’re willing to pay the price", I said. Then I said it again. And again. And again. He still smiled at me as he hoisted my pack onto his back, listening to the chant as if it was music to his ears. I couldn’t seem to stop saying it. I knew what the price of knowing the secret was then. Oh how I knew!
“The fountain of youth you seek….you’re sitting on it. You’ll never hunger, get sick or experience discomfort as long as you don’t leave this mountaintop. You can never die here and will stay as you are, even if hundreds of years go by, until you pass the secret and this one last message on to someone else. Then you get your youth back, just as I did. I’m 213 years old, by the way.” He whispered something else in my ear then, before he turned and walked away, leaving me with nothing but the clothes I wore and my new mantra.
That someone else, after all these long lonely years, was almost to the stone chair and as I sat there naked, the clothes long rotted from my body and still chanting the secret, I remembered that the additional thing I needed to tell him was Dan’s Itinerary for the Week of December 12th, 2004. Monday: Greetings from the inner voice that lives just behind my eyes and between my ears! I skipped a week, as you might’ve seen, but not much happened anyway. If you popped in to see a new story but were disappointed, I hope you found an older one in the archives to make the visit worthwhile. The holidays are in full swing and no matter how you feel about them, it’s hang on or be swept away by the good cheer. I look forward to the new year here in the office. Tuesday: There are some great places on the internet to go and chat or rant or voice your opinion, just be careful that you approach those sites with an open mind and a thick skin. Inevitably, you will encounter a fragile personality or zealot that keys in on what you post and rip you a new hole, regardless of how you meant the post to read. As I have found and will hence-forth practice, the best thing to do if you really don't care what others think or believe, and care even less about how they feel about your beliefs or thoughts is to not post or even read the posts, least you be sucked into replying. I'm in the office today, keeping it to myself..... Wednesday: Middle of the week to you. It's tough trying to find subjects to ponder on anymore without sounding like a lonely lunatic or a broken record. I see things on the television that I'd like to remark on, but each time the days commentary sounds like a hate letter or political endorsement/non-endorsement. I don't get out of the office as much as I used to..... Thursday: I'm always getting notes here in the office from readers about what a story might possibly mean or how it might be connected to real life events. Please believe me, these are all fiction. I like telling a story from the first person viewpoint, so sometimes it reads as if I'm recalling memories or events. Nope.....all fiction. Except the daily excerpts, which have a few shreds of truth. Friday: I'm breaking from a tradition that somehow started of writing a rhyme without reason for Friday. Poetry, or what I try to pawn as poetry, usually comes to me when it wants to, which isn't right now. I don't force it. I've tried, oh how I've tried, but the results were always too rotten to publish. So I'll wait a week, see what ferments in the old noggin' and try again. Have a nice stoked holiday! The workshop was something new for Alana, or Ally as her friends called her. She sat there timid and of course worried about being timid, during the entire first meeting while all the seasoned veterans of the workshop had shared their worries and fears with the group. Several times she started to say something, anything, but worried about how it would come out. She’d lean just a little forward, open her mouth just a little bit, and everyone would pause, waiting for her to spit it out. My goodness! What if she did spit by accident? Something else to worry about! She’d sit there teetered on the edge of her chair in the circle while everyone stared expectantly and she’d freeze. But the group seemed to expect it and would start back up again, the pregnant pause lasting only a few microseconds. They too were worrywarts, after all, and had once teetered themselves. Ally had been a
chronic worrier all her life and had finally found a support group online,
Worry-Warts Workshop, to help her stop experiencing the incessant and nagging
feeling that if she didn’t worry, everything would fall apart for her. It was
a trait that came from parents that worried and worried about everything, then
told their worries to their poor, unaware little redheaded girl. She felt it was
her duty to help her parents worry about the bills and the government and the
violence in the world. They loved that she was such a good and worrying little
girl! She was virtually accident and injury free during her entire teenage
years, drawing herself up into a tightly wound ball of worry and not venturing
into anything that could possibly cause any change to her bubble-like existence.
She became the school’s exocentric and all the kids wondered about the girl
who stayed to herself, got perfect grades and never, ever touched anything
without gloves on. It might have been the gloves that finally drove Ally to seek
help. She’d worn them all her life and she was wearing them now at the second
WWW meeting she was attending. Not oddly at all though, several others were
wearing gloves as well. “I worried that I’d be late getting here,” she heard a man saying as she stopped worrying about whether her car was locked or not and started paying attention again. “So I got here 2 hours early and stood by the meter with a hand full of change, just in case it clicked to empty just as a meter maid drove by” he finished. That was a valid worry, Ally thought. She’d have to think about that the next time she went anywhere that there was a meter. Oh my! Did she park at a meter and not see it? “I started to worry about that too” another woman spoke up, giving Ally a short respite, because she’d started teetering on the edge of her chair again and a few people had noticed. “But then I remembered that I’d only checked the stove four times instead of the required five times to see if it was turned off or not before I left, so I worried about that instead.” The stove! In her haste to get to
the meeting Ally had forgotten to check the stove! She could hear her long
departed Mother and Fathers voices in her mind. “You didn’t check the
&%#$@ stove?!? You might as well just burn it down yourself!!!” they’d
scream at her, and march her to the stove to check each and every eye. Near the
end of their worried lives, her parents had started turning off the circuit
breaker for the stove too. Ally struggled to take her mind off the stove and the
meter and worried instead that maybe this group therapy thing wasn’t a good
idea. She’d added to all her worries instead of exercising them! There had to
be something she could share here, something she could get out of her system and
finally be a part of the process, not just an observer. Then she remembered the
thing she was the most worried about recently, and teetered further out on the
edge of her chair than ever before. Everyone stopped and looked at her, smiles
on their faces as they waited for her to give them a new worry to worry about. “Hi” she stammered. “I’m Ally, and I’m a Worry-Wart. I found this group because I worried that I was the only one in the whole world who was worried about worrying, and that worried me too,” she finished. The smiles stayed on each face as she realized, and worried, about how nuts that made her sound. Maybe the smiles were just a mask each person wore to hide the fact they hadn’t considered that aspect and the fact they hadn’t now worried them immensely. But she was feeling bolder now and went on. “I have worried all my life,” she continued. “I was born and raised this way and I know no other lifestyle. I’m so lonely and afraid all the time, chewed up and consumed by the worry. I’ve worn gloves in public all my life, all the way back to my earliest memories, worried about touching anything unclean.” She was starting to tremble. “I’m 34 and have never dared kiss anyone, not even my parents, though I long to so badly,” she blurted out. The group stopped smiling at that. How could anyone smile at that thought? She knew she had their attention now, so she hit them with her most current nagging worry. She had to say it. “On top of all the worries passed on by my parents and the ones I’ve invented since, I have a new, deep dark worry…one that keeps me up nights…. worrying more than I’ve ever worried before.” And everyone else teetered out further on the edges of their chairs than they ever had before right along with her, eager to hear this new diabolical worry. So she said it. “I worry that Dan won’t write about me in his Itinerary for the Week of December 19th, 2004.” Dan’s Itinerary for the week of December 19th, 2004 Monday: This is the “push to get it done” week for everyone before they try to relax and grab some holiday cheer. By all means, grab it like a pair of hormone driven 16 year old’s on their first un-chaperoned date! The energy exhausted this week will be hard to replace, but seeing my son’s eyes light up every time I plug in the Christmas tree goes a long way to filling me back up and making me feel that warm fuzzy glow of peace and love. And in my opinion, that’s what it’s all about anyway. I’m probably shopping today, so drive safely and so will I… Tuesday: The total of the sum is in some part totaled by part of the parts of the sum, to total it all up. Hey, confused? This is the sort of language (but not that particular sentence…I made that one up) that I encountered while reading a health insurance policy form recently. In their quest to not actually provide information that is easily understandable, this company put more double talk into each sentence than porky the pig could ever muster. I’m in the office today, re-reading the re-read small print I’ve already re-read twice before. Wednesday: Web logs are pretty interesting to browse through on the net. It’s like being able to walk through a bus station and read minds. You get a personal take on what that particular blogger is feeling or experiencing in their lives and it can be both enlightening and frightening. I’ve read some very disturbing blogs and I’ve read some that have become daily reads. I can usually tell within the first two or three paragraphs if I’m going to keep reading or not. And sometimes I find one so good that it grabs me by the short hairs and I find myself reading back to their very first post. These are the people I hope finds time to write a book someday. I’m in the office today. Thursday: Depression and other clinical illnesses are becoming more diagnosed and are being treated by an increasingly large number of designer drugs on the market, I read in the paper recently, here in the office. Hmmmm…something to alter someone’s mood. Something that either calms them down or perks them up. Adjust the intake and fine-tune the desired personality to just the right one. Oh, and be sure to make these medications super expensive so that only the people who have money can reap the rewards of all that research. Alcohol and pot will always be the poor man’s medicine for mood altercation. Friday: It comes to me as no surprise, |
