Sunday November 10th 2013 Tim
The choice is not an easy one. It's
between a little gathering of Lady Birds, wisely sleeping on the ceiling
in the corner of my room. Or, maintaining the shine on the shovel blade.
One of the Lady Birds is clearly an insomniac, he or she will
occasionally wander around, but always returns to the pod, and when he
or she does return to the pod, there is probably Lady Bird muttering,
possibly a cruel remark and I say this because I have observed nudging
and other signs of general disapproval by the group for any of their
number unable to settle into a sensible energy conserving dream-state.
Something I yearn to experience for myself, but because I belong to a
genetic predisposition primarily remarkable for its conviction that tool
making is the solution to all things, this is not something very likely
to happen this side of my grave.
For my part, I'm
concerned for the insomniac Lady Bird, because Lady Bird restlessness
invariably means clattering and banging wing carapaces against light bulbs.
Fortunately my main light is some sort of soda agitated by the electric jolt
passed through it, which hums a little but doesn't cause flying insects to
hallucinate portals into other world spaces where our planet has no wobble
and is quite without tilt. It's the bedside light bulb that causes
this problem in flying insects, and so long as the shovel blade has a shine, the
bedside light remains lit for no more time than it takes to retrieve the
pillow, arrange my own blankets and say goodnight to the window ledge
Leaping Spider. Who I think is responsible for the occasional Lady Bird wing
casing on the table at which I spend far to much time. And, as I'm certain
you appreciate, maintaining the shine on the shovel blade has its own
dangers to back, shin, knee, elegant wrists, nasal passages and my own wing
- or shoulder blade as the medical profession will insist upon calling it.