Friday, January 15, 2010

Answering Machine of the Multiverse

**So, no blog on Wednesday. I think I'll just revise that to simply "bi-weekly"... not for the sake of my readership, but so I don't feel guilty about it.** Explanation:

Fuck. Finals.

Done. Finally. Oh, and what's worse-- I had to spend an hour and 45 minutes trapped in some kind of alternate universe wherein TIME HAS STOPPED. I know that seems insane, exaggeratory, showing my completely overdramatic and impatient side (I'm not denying anything.) but seriously. I love libraries, specifically for their quiet, booknerdiness. But this was just not right. Like something out of a bad horror movie, the Twilight Zone, the worst documentary ever, or my brain. Possibly all, stemming from my brain... No sound, I was the only person moving. It was cold, too cold, maybe because of my lack of motion, and my hands had started to turn a splotchy reddish-purple. I remember this and take note of it because I got hyper observant halfway through. I brought a book to pass time like a normal person would, but I finished it. There was NO clock, which I took to mean that time was NONEXISTENT. The silence was SO quiet I was afraid of making any kind of noise. I really don't like drawing attention to myself, (in certain situations, it can vary by day. I like to pretend I'm interesting and attention-seeking when in reality I can be shy and dull as a sack of potatoes. Not the red ones, or the ones shaped like fingers, just POTATOES. Why the hell am I telling the Internet this? Why am I comparing myself to potatoes? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW.) and because in the state I was in I convinced myself that if I sneezed I would like, rip a hole in the space-time continuum and destroy humanity.

Okay, so, the non-creepy part of this story: ONLY evidence of time passage; an answering machine. An old-fashioned (circa maybe 1991), real answering machine where the messages can be heard by everyone. Very librariany. Static female-robotish voice saying she was Linda **or some other short name that I tend to associate with librarians, names may have been not remembered to leave the innocent out of my nonsense.** and that could could Lynne **see note at Linda** please call her back about somethingsomething?

And so, this is one big thank-you note to Lynne/Linda. Thank you, Lynne/da and your answering machine, because sometimes I need proof that there is other human life in my universe...



  1. OMG I know a librarian named Linda!! Weird, yes?