Cut

The power is off. Cut. Scissors to our cyber-umbilical cord.

It’s as if time has been poured into our hands, but we are not quite sure what to do with it. There is no internet to explore, no funny cat pictures to amuse us on screens or soap operas to delight us with their chaotic, unbelievable storylines. There are no gasps of delight by moments captured in time by snappers of our overpaid jesters. There are no pictures to be had of celebrities caught the nanosecond they step outdoors without makeup, or where a small piece of pixelated skin is deemed to be cellulite. And oh Lordy, let alone are we able to view those poor, wiry saps, where a pea consumed the night before, has shown them to now be harboring a baby bump.

What is to be done with this time, which suddenly seems much heavier a burden. It doesn’t feel as heavy as we fritter it away on Facebook, wondering why you’re reading that somebody is bored/itching/watching TV. Why on earth would you put up a picture where it looks like you’ve been constipated for a month? Where is the self-censor as the selfies populate our screens great and small. Those mouths, slightly agog, are not alluring, it’s as if the fish has missed the hook.

Perhaps I should move away from this screen, to see what can be done as the light fades. Time drifts by much more slowly with our attention not stolen by unexpected, electronic burglars of time.

The stealth of the banal, is lethal for a commodity which in our very own life-span realities is very limited.

 But when the switch is returned, I suspect this very precious thing will seep and creep away – sand on the wind, coins in a one-armed bandit.

Light! Cuppa and Corrie … what was I saying?

Climb every mountain

Yesterday, whilst tootling around the house, avoiding the vacuum cleaner, the phone bleeped. A text!

Holding out the phone as far as my arm would go - noticing that if it doesn't get telescopic soon I'm never going to be able to work out the calorie count on chocolate wrappings - I read it, slightly apprehensive.

"Kill me now." Hyperbole?

I nodded. Was the texter running a marathon over keen, hot sands? Wrestling with pitbulls in a pit of snakes?

"Keep calm and carry on." I cannot truncate nor abandon vowels.

"Nein." Came the response.

"Breathe." I suggested helpfully.

"Can't." Puffed back.

"Try." I advised.

"Made it." Surprisingly, not Everest or Kilimanjaro ... Rangitoto actually

Hope the views are worth it. Quick look out the window, to witness a bit of sun and blue sky, am assured they'd be spectacular.

Silence. Still no vacuum cleaner.

Bleep-bleep.

"Lost my money." A whole five dollars, not too worrying. No time to respond.

"Parched and tired." Oops can't buy refreshments, said cash lost.

"Found the moolah." Oh good, that should preclude dehydration then.

The bleep-bleeps stopped.

Texter's brother noted, "His heart rate needs to go above his age occasionally."

Sort of agree, but too tired to work out strategic plan to accomplish laid down task.

Didn't find vacuum cleaner. Suspect a good thing.

Cat drops hair, creating tiny kitty tumble weeds which really need that sucker to be found.

Cuppa, always does wonders.