Slow-Motion

Everything is lagging.

I turn my head. In slow-motion, it blurs across the screen. My cat dashes through the room;

you see: cat, empty space, cat;

you hear: some kind of loud noise, like thundering hooves,

then silence.

This is your brain on

drugs

dial-up.

This is what becomes of the real world when you have been living at a 16,043 latency for hours. Suddenly, you’re dead and wondering if maybe you lag-kited one of those crazy dragons into your living room.

Curled up in an over-sized chair, laptop balanced on my knee, I blink.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s snowing?’” I think, staring at a friend’s message. “Didn’t it just do that? Yeah, I’m pretty sure it just did that.”

I shake my head and return to trying to get across Honor Hold.

“Gryphon master…so…close…” Disconnect. “NOOOO!” I have been attempting this journey for ten minutes.

“I’m just trying to get back to an AH!” I type furiously to another friend. The text doesn’t even appear on my screen before -

Disconnect.

When I log back on, my buddy is still standing by the inn mailbox. He waves at me. I start to type a “c’ya when I have a better connection” -

Disconnect.

DENIED!! You have attempted an unauthorized disconnect! Die, bitch, die!

…

The power goes out.

My mother walks in and says, “It’s snowing.”

 

Silly Games

Dangling from the tree branch a foot above my head, the fat gray squirrel narrows its hard, shiny black eyes at me. With a mighty thud, it drops to the deck, snarling at my foot before finally dashing away.

“Aaaaa!” I bellow as I wave my arms after it. “Stupid fat gray squirrel! You scared the crap out of me!”

My outburst terrifies a nearby blue jay, which darts into the air, screeching obscenities. I wave the garden hose at it threateningly.

“You want a piece of me?” I taunt.

And then I remember the cavalry: three malicious blue jays that assume Triforce formation as they perch on the roof, watching me go to and fro between the back door and the laundry room. If I am singing, they will fly around me, cawing. Heaven forbid I be carrying the laundry basket under my arm. The blue jays are the only law ’round here. While I may feel brave with the hose in my hands now, I know that they will avenge the insult within the hour – and I am afraid. I return to watering the plants.

A moment passes. The blue jay dives at me. The squirrel reappears with three buddies. There is a bee hovering maybe two inches from my nose. And I have just witnessed a spider crawl up the leg of my pants. Who am I kidding? “Afraid?” As if – I’m quaking in my five-year-old, semi-rotten flip-flops. I yelp as I nearly step on a dead dragonfly being dissected by a few dozen ants.

It seems that I am terrified, which makes no sense. These things do not frighten me. I reassess the situation: I am irritated. No, not just irritated; I am furious. Here I am, taking care of the house while my family is away for the week, and my neighbors are playing silly games.

I finish the watering and stomp inside.

My cat is playing with a silly toy mouse on the rug, and I smile. She’s such a cutie.