Public Key (xLv)

I couldn’t face the world, not yet. I didn’t have the energy. It was nightfall before I so much as went for water. The well was capped but there was a pump and spout beside it. The water was teethchilling cold. I filled my pitcher, drank it down, filled it again and brought it back to my hut.

I had to find the outhouse in the night. There were two stalls and a cold-water sink. Behind it were two roofless stalls with pull-handle showers. It made me feel like I was vacationing at a lake. In America. In the 1930s.

While I was brushing my teeth – with Castile soap, never a pleasant experience – I heard the sound of a car pulling up. Its engine went off. Feet hit the ground. A door opened. A door closed.

I stayed there, staring into the one small mirror, for maybe fifteen minutes, waiting for someone to come and take me away.

Finally I shrugged, rinsed and spit, and went to my hut.

Nobody was waiting for me. No man in body armor holding a riot gun. No guy in a suit with a badge. Nothing.

I really needed to chill out.

With the sun set, that room was my world. With nobody there, with nothing to do, with not even a bulb to light the room, my world seemed pretty small.

Then I opened up my laptop.

I couldn’t get internet in my room. I was happy with that. I still had well more than fourscore and seven movies that I hadn’t even looked at, besides hundreds of books, comic books, graphic novels, short story collections, novels, biographies and music to shame a vinyl junky’s lifetime collection.

Yeah, my world was small, and I was all alone in it. So? Was I more alone than I had been in my dorm-room in college? In my parent’s house in high school? If I had an apartment in Boston, in Manhattan, in Paris, sure I’d have some more options, sure I’d have some life. But sure too I’d spend plenty of time just hanging out in my bedroom, alone with my computer, passing on the life local to be a part of the world.

I had to look at this as an opportunity. I had all this time and I had it all to myself. No distractions. No responsibilities. I could read anything I wanted, watch whatever there was to watch, listen to all the music I’d always wanted to hear. I could write if I wanted, play and record, and a thousand other things that required nothing but a computer and a person to make it dance. The only limitation was my own energy; my only guide, what I wanted to look back on at the end of the day and see that I had done.

With that in mind I strung my hammock, climbed in, put my laptop on my stomach, and opened up Renee Descartes’ Meditations Upon the First Philosophy.

I was asleep in five minutes.

 

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~ by davekov on 20 February 2011.

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