Kage Baker frequently observed (nay, complained) that nothing ate up time like a car problem. Non-functioning cars create fugues around themselves, and one’s entire day can be sucked down and consumed like interstellar debris over the edge of a black hole’s Schwarzschild radius.
That’s where my day has gone. Kimberly’s car was in the shop. The household is scattered hither and yon through the day, and I was the only driver available. Between taking people places and picking them up again, I mostly slept. I must have done some of the sleeping upright at my computer, because entire hours vanished without my being aware of their passage while I sat there. I never noticed them going, and I don’t seem to have accomplished anything during the time, either.
Nothing but dissolving dust, sparkling in its dissolution in the maw of a gravitational point source. Whoosh, slither, gulp – a hypothetical blue glare of Cherenkov radiation, and a huge flushing sound … and there goes the day.
But it’s 80 degrees here right now, a perfect spring evening. All the doors are open, and the air smells of new-cut grass, wisteria, hamburger and celantro. The damned car is back, with a new fuel pump, and I seem to be finally awake. We’ve escaped the fell clutches of the fugue!
Let’s see what I can make of the night.