tea for Melpomene

So I was visited by the outlaw librarian again.

This was last night as I poured the remaining oyster crackers into a bucket so I could feed the feral octopus in my backyard.
She wanted to know why I hadn’t updated this blog in so long and I said because I was waiting on the telepathy module to start working. She quickly billed me for sixteen books that I didn’t take out of a non-existing library in Liechtenstein. I guess that’s the price for unsolicited sarcasm.

I paid her in whole wheat orzo and she left to feed someone in that libary basement.

Our discussion over, I put out another container in the yard, this one of dry food for the cats so the octopus could be left alone and pondered the question that may as well have been asked by someone from another planet (NOTE, the outlaw librarian may very well be from another planet).

There has been a pandemic and accompanying lockdown on my planet and everytime I felt like writing I felt like picking up where I left off and there’s just way too much.

I would have thought that being locked away in my own home while on societal lockdown would be a dream come true for me in many ways…

We hammered away at the ice wall until the window above the door was visible.
In time we were able to pry it open, our hands bleeding and frozen.
After squeezing through, we moved the weakest of us into deeper chasms to be given aid and manufacture warmth.
The weakest were the first to fight and some would not stay long inside.
Our preparations were more than adequate though we needed to remind ourselves of this.

The last sentiment says it all. I missed the world and my interaction with it. Somehow I knew then during the worst moments that I’d look back and wish I enjoyed myself more. But then who couldn’t say that when looking back on anything?

All in all my psychological temperature was very much affected by the world around me those first six months until I forcibly had to unplug. The resulting mental detachment was like seeing a chapter in a book that seems out of place. Hastily written or perhaps inserted by unnatural force. The ensuing chapter was not such a surprise but how we got there was rushed.

Now we are all in those latter chapters, the only variance being the acknowledgement of what parts are rushed.

The outlaw librarian (known locally as Pomeen or Pomeeny) would be back and I should consider myself blessed she stops by anymore. Her life seems to be so busy nowadays.

This time I’ll be ready and perhaps she’ll stay for tea.

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