I just finished
rebuilding my computer yesterday. I can't believe I made it a whole
day without writing here. Where to begin with where I've been? I've
been all over the place. Well, not physically, but in other regards I
have been.
I've missed those who I'd come closest to calling
friends. I don't know how much longer I can stay here, physically, and
survive. I mean, I'm doing ok, considering how well I usually am, but
the canopy of my little jungle has become an oppressive ceiling of
dark, eternal clouds; the Shardwoods slice in between my ribs, avoiding
not only the bones but my flesh, and shred the fibers of my very soul.
Yeah, I know, so melodromatic, so goth-kid poetry, so angsty blog
fucker. Whatever. Whatever.
Whatever.
It's how it
is for me. It's even worse than the external, physical threats to my
life, and I've encountered my share of those in the last year, too.
The most startling example was actually pretty recent.
I woke up
from a nap or a sleep or whatever, dazed, and soon realized the
landscape had changed; something loomed above me that wasn't there when
I dozed off. And it wasn't a pitooga (that's how I've decided to spell
it now; if I live here alone I have every right to name this shit
whatever I want) nor any other kind of stationary flora or fauna. It
was only still because it chose to be, unusually still, and that might
have made it more scary in retrospect that if it had behaved how I'd
have expected it too.
Pointy bristles closed against each other
in thin-lipped mandibles, head bent down exactly in my direction,
swaying almost imperceptibly softly, dead quiet but very much alive, a
Grand wogfish watched me through the frontside of its long optical
tubing. At first I said, "ohshit!" despite myself and tensed up, but
then I became just as dead quiet and still as it was. We stared at
each other. I felt ill in my stomach, but I think that feeling might
have been what woke me up in the first place--it was either some sort
of sixth or seventh sense thing telling me I was in danger, or it was
an unrelated tummy ache. My stomach became no less ill at ease as I
lay there, now fully awake, but after a few long moments my mind eased
up.
I became fascinated. They're usually too stupid to
notice something that isn't moving or rotten-stinky, first of all; and
if it does notice me why isn't it doing anything? They're too stupid
to watch anything out of mere curiosity either, or so I thought. Was
it unconscious? I'd never seen one unconscious yet still alive out of
water before. And then I registered something I must have already
noticed, but I suddenly became conscious of something that was
additionally unsettling: maybe it was the fog or something, but it had
a pale glow to it; it looked fairer-skinned than the mud-color they
usually are, and a tad luminescent (as opposed to entirely
non-luminescent, as they usually appear, unless a patch of some plant
or fungus or whatever that's obviously luminescent and certainly not
pale takes root on their skin). I felt safe, but I turned my head to
where I'd laid down my spear before I slept. I caught a glimpse of it
and considered making a grab for it.
Nope, still not feeling
like I was in danger, but I decided I was going to push off my back,
roll over and snatch the spear. Then, still staring at it, it staring
at me, I did push off, feeling no urgency at first, merely playing my
part in a shared ceremony. I was on my hands and knees and ready to
throw myself the rest of the distance to my spear when I heard it
move. I was already moving too slowly; I looked back, frozen, to see
that it was turning around. The fucker just started walking softly
away. It turned its head back a moment to look at me as it left, but
it had already decided it was going to leave me be. I remembered to
move my body again and got up and skittered to my spear. I lifted it
and squeezed its staff it two tight fists. My upper arms started to
tremble. I could still hear its soft footsteps moving away.
But
I couldn't turn around. I thought I should keep an eye on it as it
left, to make sure it wasn't going to change its mind, and I was still
so fucking curious that a part of me wanted to continue watching it out
of sheer dumbfounded wonder, but I couldn't. That's when the encounter
became really scary to me--when it was going away, and I knew my life
wasn't in any danger. Something was wrong with the whole ordeal; I
didn't want to believe it was there, that it had been there, that this
had happened--was happening. Its leisurely footfalls had long receded
into the inaudible distance and had been replaced by the loud, frantic
stomping of my heartbeat on my eardrums by the time I let myself move
again. I turned around and the wogfish was out of sight.
I
heard a movement in a pitooga above me. I was dizzy with terror for a
moment until I realized it was just a fellow Gray reject sitting on one
of its limbs. It stared at me a second and then turned its head away.
"That was weird, wasn't it?" I called to it, more to hear my voice
defy the stifling silence than anything else. I knew it wouldn't
respond. The other rejects notice me when I approach one of them or
they approach me, but then they entirely disregard me and go about
their retarded, loner business. I never take it personal. They treat
one another exactly the same way.
This one might have groaned; I
don't think it was a bug. But when I looked back up it was still
turned around, head hunched, paying rapt attention to its kneekaps as
far as I could tell.
I see them so rarely, but seeing one now,
just after the close brush with the wogfish, was a little more
reassuring than it usually was. Reassuring, until, of course, I
remembered that a reminder of my loneliness was familiar, but small
comfort. I walked away.
It's the daily grind of the glass in
the trees--whoops, I mean, 'pitoogas'--those persistent reminders of
dull discomfort and inane solitude that somehow seem to threaten my
survival the most.
But take heart, me; I'm back online. Hello,
all! How you been? After I'm finished writing this maybe I'll email
or comment or IM some of you to let you know more directly that I'm
back. This whole long stretch of being computer-less has been mostly a
profound example of my laziness, but occasionally it functioned as an
exercise in reservation. Writing this before immediately seeking out
my most adored online friends is another example of that (the
exhibiting reserve thing). I don't know if this time away has been a
good thing; it was supposed to be, but things never turn out how
they're supposed to. It has made things different for a while.
Hopefully things will be for the better as I return to the cyberwebnet
life, and as I yield to myself a little more and sniff out my old
friends; if they'll still have me.
Wish me luck.
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