suchaswitch

Wrong hazard worry.

In Uncategorized on 100815 at 0726

So late from the lab, can’t call anyone to take me home. The moment I sat on my bike I saw something not right: thick clouds had rolled in, backlit by the moon and at first I thought ooh but when it flashed like a wedding photographer, I knew. No mother’s voice to admonish was necessary, as I – alone in the night on the bike in the stretch of sagebrush I must cross to reach my home and my bed – would be a good receiver, an irony that that got me here, a postdoctor, in the first place. Those streak hooks are so close, one snaked, yikes, swift to the building beside with all the spectrometers and I thought how this hazard has been around always, and worse than those ohms I take trainings for. I went back in, watching safely from the wide windows of the “green” building’s lobby, wondering whether the designers in their experimentalism (you should hear the walls whistle from the system recycling water!) had forgotten a rod, or if it’s true how my mom would make me turn off the TV, kill the computer, and play anagrams under candles for fear of portals for Zeus to zap wrath through. I decide not to heed the myth, log on and look if, in all this gleam of electronica, we’ve set systems to see when safe to be abike in the sagebrush, and – indeed – I affirm, there’s the storm, red schmutz covering my place on the map. But what bewilders me is the alert about wildfire which I see on the monitor, (yes, this is how it starts, and why Smoky the Bear is bad). No one worries about getting struck themselves; I’m the only idiot with only a bike, all else cars and more cars, and so I retreat, pull out the crazyphone and keys, wallet from my backpocket, and stretch out on the plastic thing in my cubicle that the fancy roly-chair rolls upon, and wait out the storm.

(100731, 100808)

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