So, venturing out with thoughts of slaying the dragon uppermost in my mind this morning, I hung around the tawdry department store's entrance for the ten minutes it took the staff to awaken from their Saturday night slumbers and open the damn shop.
I'm usually early getting somewhere, which must bespeak a very deep-seated anxiety indeed. In fact, I think I know what it is.
Looking at huge mounds of green plastic advertising themselves as The Perfect Dog Kennel and wondering how they can charge a grand and a half for this toxic creation.
The big safety grill rattles up, and now I'm stuck in front of a mass-produced seascape in the art shop next door, fascinated by the translucence of the breaking waves.
I wander in, around security guys and store managers who are wrestling with pull-up banners they want planted outside the Tawdry Department Store, as if it wasn't bad enough already.
Postponing the terrible moment, we go first to buy some recordable CDs, mostly for me to store Jason's excellent selection of Pagan music on.
The till lady hasn't quite got her change sorted out yet, so early are we, so we postpone the inevitable a little longer while we wait for her to open the till. She smiles and hands me a heap of small change and an apology, for which I am grateful, as the Time Has Now Arrived.
I walk to the front of the store - the most secure part, under constant camera and security-personnel scrutiny - and survey the glassed-in rows with trepidation.
It takes me all of four minutes, give or take, to make a decision, inform the sales person of it, and then fifteen minutes while she fiddles and faffs with things technical. She gives me, not a smile, but a bright red-and-black carrier bag, paper thank gods, in which to carry my 5cm-wide dragon safely and lucratively for the manufacturer.
We ride home with the Beast slung at the floor beneath my feet-where it is meet it should belong - and I feel a very, very small sense of relief. I've done it.
I've gone and bought myself a cellphone.
Tonight, I have no doubt, I'll be locked in earnest practise of alternating the Ida and the Pingala streams, something which I have recently discovered I can actually do, probably because it's been backed up by science.
Ahh, science - my ultimate and original sin. I'm working on it.
Pic: Bloody St. George (Hans von Aachen)from Art Prints on Demand
I'm usually early getting somewhere, which must bespeak a very deep-seated anxiety indeed. In fact, I think I know what it is.
Looking at huge mounds of green plastic advertising themselves as The Perfect Dog Kennel and wondering how they can charge a grand and a half for this toxic creation.
The big safety grill rattles up, and now I'm stuck in front of a mass-produced seascape in the art shop next door, fascinated by the translucence of the breaking waves.
I wander in, around security guys and store managers who are wrestling with pull-up banners they want planted outside the Tawdry Department Store, as if it wasn't bad enough already.
Postponing the terrible moment, we go first to buy some recordable CDs, mostly for me to store Jason's excellent selection of Pagan music on.
The till lady hasn't quite got her change sorted out yet, so early are we, so we postpone the inevitable a little longer while we wait for her to open the till. She smiles and hands me a heap of small change and an apology, for which I am grateful, as the Time Has Now Arrived.
I walk to the front of the store - the most secure part, under constant camera and security-personnel scrutiny - and survey the glassed-in rows with trepidation.
It takes me all of four minutes, give or take, to make a decision, inform the sales person of it, and then fifteen minutes while she fiddles and faffs with things technical. She gives me, not a smile, but a bright red-and-black carrier bag, paper thank gods, in which to carry my 5cm-wide dragon safely and lucratively for the manufacturer.
We ride home with the Beast slung at the floor beneath my feet-where it is meet it should belong - and I feel a very, very small sense of relief. I've done it.
I've gone and bought myself a cellphone.
Tonight, I have no doubt, I'll be locked in earnest practise of alternating the Ida and the Pingala streams, something which I have recently discovered I can actually do, probably because it's been backed up by science.
Ahh, science - my ultimate and original sin. I'm working on it.
Pic: Bloody St. George (Hans von Aachen)from Art Prints on Demand
Cellphones can actually save you in bad times. Once upon a time, during a winter storm, I ran off the road way out in the country and couldn't get out of the ditch. I momentarily panicked but then remembered I had a cellphone. It saved me from a potentially dangerous long walk in the ice and snow. They really can be lifesavers.
ReplyDeleteYes, I know - we keep telling ourselves they're useful. And it's true, of course.
ReplyDeleteBut what did we do before cellphones?
I remember.
Just oneof the counts I dislike them on is the way they've made us so rude, so encroaching.
Love,
Terri in Joburg
Hey, it's just a bunch of monkeys fucking around, ignore them the best you can.
ReplyDeleteAnd try having an original thought instead of reading a bunch of monkey droppings and muttering about them. Hugs.
Like Livia said, cell phones can be ok for a 911 call, other than that I have no use for one.
Hey Billy,
ReplyDeleteHow do you know that those thoughts were not mine originally, and the monkeys are just now picking up on them?
Love,
Terri