personal

Bright day

The most exciting thing that happened today — and this is no exaggeration — is that I had one of the fluorescent bulbs above my cubicle replaced. It was out all of last week, but I figured, hey, that was “Green Week” at the office, so I’ll do my part. Plus, a new bulb makes things suddenly very bright, both for me and the surrounding three cubicles. But this week, I decided enough was enough, I do actually need to be able to see. Changing out the old bulb took a little over an hour, since the fixture wouldn’t shut properly for our mailroom guy and he had to call building maintenance to come take a look. That guy got it closed, but hopefully it won’t swing back open and hit me in the head one of these days. And hopefully the bulb won’t need to be replaced again between now and our office move in the winter or spring.

That this was the most exciting thing that happened today should tell you all you need to know about this Monday.

The weekend end

Just your typical Sunday, does exactly what it says on the tin. I wrote a little something today, though:

If you’d asked Mutombo what he was digging for, he might have laughed and said a dollar an hour, the camaraderie of the other men, the fresh air and plentiful sun. He would not have mentioned his family, unless perhaps to ask that you not say where you’d found him, and he would not have mentioned the object, which neither he nor the others would have felt comfortable describing in much detail aloud.

They were not by nature a superstitious lot, but still, there were rumors in the camp at night, and there was little doubt that the object itself was dangerous. Mutombo himself had seen three men fall sick and two of them die, strong men whose shovels the day before might have stood right beside his own.

All of them were immigrants; Mutombo could not even say with any certainty which country he was in any longer. The trip here had been long and disorienting, and the excavation work at the camp only added to that feeling of disconnect. It was a feeling that Mutombo would have to admit suited him just fine, free from his father’s scolding looks, his mother’s long disappointed sighs, the threats of another night in the district jail. Here, there was only the work, the digging, and the infectious laughter of the other men.

And, of course, there was the object.

They had no other name for it, neither they nor the white men from the corporation overseeing the dig. It was not a thing to which names easily affixed, even fearful names spoken half in jest, like invader, demon. It defied description.

Mutombo knew only that it had fallen from the sky. And that, if they were not careful, it might continue to kill.

Beyond that? I returned a couple of books to the library. Heady stuff, I know.

Thursday

A pretty quiet day, aside from the storm that rushed through here. Luckily, I got home ahead of the storm and missed all of the excitement in Manhattan, where apparently the Long Island Railroad shut down entirely. Good times.

Other than that… I finished reading Barry Lopez’s short story collection Light Action in the Caribbean. I liked the collection, even if some of the stories (including the title story) were a little strange, and even if none exactly lived up to “The Mappist,” the final story in the book and the one that introduced me to Lopez. (I heard it on Selected Shorts, where actor Joe Spano does a great job with it.)

And I wrote a little more today, making some slow but steady progress on a short story of my own I’ve been working on lately. I’m hoping to spend even more time with it over the weekend.

Oh, and I posted the cover and contents for Kaleidotrope #10 earlier today. I still can’t believe this will be ten issues, that I’ve been publishing the zine since October of 2006. (Just as I have trouble believing I’ve worked in my office since October of 2004.) I really like this issue, and I hope you will too. (You can pre-order copies now if you’re not already a subscriber!)