Lake Lewisia #534

It had been a long time, seasons and seasons, that she had been studying with them, learning what she knew was only a small fraction of the beautiful impossibilities the world had to offer, before that dawn when she dropped a fishing line into the water. Back in the trees, two sleeping bags zipped together still contained a dark figure, but she had woken with the sun and let the familiar motions carry her through the routine of casting. Only fish and the occasional damp loveletter had risen when she reeled in all the previous lines, but that morning, alone with the strangeness around her, she hauled up a ringing phone, plugged into nothing: functional, and impossible, and entirely hers.

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LL#534

plague journaling

Continuing the theme of small mercies, I have the best possible assignment at work right now. It's the twin machines, which are finicky and hated, except I love them and am getting sort of decent at keeping them running. And they've changed the procedure on the job, so I am basically responsible SOLELY for doing that--keeping them running and churning out as many parts as possible for someone else to deal with. I'm tucked on an edge of our work area, sort of hidden between these two big boys. I get to stand up every minute and a half to move parts from one to the next, which keeps my joints from locking up on me. I get left alone to listen to music and dance around, largely ignored.

It's...it's so nice. This is why I like this job. Just me, and music, and some weird machines. Machines that I might one day convince to love me enough to work when they won't for anyone else. Feral machines in need of taming. Oh. It's just the best.

I've got the first couple years' worth of Hidden Almanac episodes on my Walkman as well. With everything on shuffle, I get a little 3-4 minute interlude from an alternate universe every so often. What a good, weird vibe for my day.