It may have taken a year, a season, it may have taken only minutes, but the boy decided, eventually, the string was to be pulled. It was not fear that stayed his hands, not precisely, but the mysticism. Was it better imagining what might happen? If the stars might fall behind a curtain of night, or the sky itself collapse; or if the earth would become the heavens, the heavens the earth, and they might all traipse along island clouds. Would the angels corral in chorus to this world on the rings of a bell, or demons rise from the gaping maws of hell? Would the world curl into a ball, like a giant rolypoly? Or would the world's edge be drawn back, and whole new lands unveiled to explore? What stayed the boy's hand equally was the disappointing outcomes he conjured in his imagination. What if nothing happened? Or what if the string itself fell, and disappeared off the edge of the world, and he could no longer gaze upon its illustrious glamour? What if it crumbled to ash in his hands? Perhaps it was a fear of a sort, but not of his fellow's punishment.
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Today was an odd day. Working at home invites a certain freedom, and a certain punishment. If you have roommates, they immediately assume you are free for discussions, for chores, for having your workspace waltzed in upon - today, a general house-cleaning took place while I worked, and my work environ was encompassed by sweeping, a roommate walking in and boasting at having cleaned another room, with each room cleaned, bathrooms that had to be used between-cleans. I alternated between music and audio-books, and, thankfully, today was not filled with difficult problem-solving (put-out-fires-thursdays). I did get some good reading and writing in (are all my friends gone this week?) after work until I was passively booted from the house when that same roommate invited a girl over for dinner.
Needless to say, I'm thankful it's nearly Friday. I'm visiting the family soon, and I could not be more excited.
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