I've Been Plotting

5:33 AM
I still feel a little sick, but I must bravely forge through the day. It is my duty as a public servant of the library. People depend upon me. I must be a good example.

5:40 AM
I hate the world.

6:45 AM
I shall have to go by the grocery store today after work; all I have is crackers, cheese, apples, and some canned food. And milk and tea, of course. If Mr. Yilmaz sees the inside of my refrigerator whilst he's fixing the heater in the living room--you never know, with foreign men--then he might think I'm strange.

6:50 AM
On the other hand, he's foreign. Perhaps cheese and crackers and apples is a normal diet in Turkland.

6:55 AM
Turkey. Took a moment for my geography knowledge to kick in. Either way, I'd best just get some food. In case he's hungry. I ought to be hospitable. After all, he will be fixing my heater.

7:oo AM
Good lord, Zeppelin--one of the cats--is stuck in the lampshade and he hisses at me if I try to get near.
Ah. I see what's happened. There was a moth flitting about around the light bulb and Zeppelin...oh dear. He's much too fat. Hence his name, of course--perhaps "Blimp" would have been more appropriate, but somehow that sounded... insulting.

7:03 AM
He's broken my lamp! Furry bastard! I tried to help him out, but nooooooo, he had to go and break the dratted lamp! And he's still stuck in the lampshade.

7:12 AM
I have succeeded in wrestling Zeppelin from the lampshade. I just grabbed the lampshade itself and shook it like mad and he--eventually--popped out. Now I have to clean up the mess and get to work on time.

12:40 PM
Work has been boring. The only (relatively) high point was when a woman named Marie came in and returned Lord of the Flies. She was in here yesterday, when she checked out the book, but she doesn't strike me as the reading type. I tried to offer to help her find some book that might interest her, but she said no and left.

12:43 PM
I've been plotting dinner for tonight just in case Mr. Yilmaz stays for dinner.

12:45 PM
Which he damn well better, because I've spent all morning plotting and it's going to take all afternoon to cook it. I've written down some foreign-looking recipes from a cookbook I got in the World section, and I'm still looking. I hope he appreciates my cultural sensitiveness.

1:12 PM
Couscous? Idly? Dosa looks good. I'll make dosa. It's Indian food, but India is fairly close to Turkey. It's on the same continent, at least.

3:20 PM
I've left the library to Macy and I'm getting the ingredients for dosa. I hope it's foreign enough.

Be Still, My Beating Heart

9:00 AM
I woke up with a cold this morning. I've got puffy eyes, the sniffles, and I feel like a hedgehog is nesting in my throat. I entertained the idea of skipping work, but I have a lot of paperwork to get through. The last time I had a buildup of paperwork I put it through the shredder and told my boss that my cats got at it, but I don't think I can do that again. He might get a bit suspicious.

9:10 AM
Even tea isn't helping much. I bet having such a cold, damp apartment has made me ill. I would sue, but that would call attention to me. My daughter might find me.

Macy is being blessedly quiet today. She did sort of madly hop into the library in order to avoid the still-lingering chickens in the front yard, but I can overlook a few oddities.

10:30 AM
A young man just wandered in here. He looks vaguely familiar; a recurring library visitor, I expect.
"Have you got any books on two?" He doesn't look like he quite knows where he is. Not that I can complain--I regularly get lost in the grocery store. All those aisles. It could happen to anyone.
Er. Two? Two what? "Well, we've got One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. If you're interested in that kind of thing." I very much doubt he is. He looks a trifle old for such books.
"No, just the number two." Charming. A lunatic. Doesn't this town have any normal people in it? Besides myself, of course.
I feel quite huffy that he's so interested in the number two. "The number three is better, you know. There are plenty of books on the significance of the number three. It's a religious number--you know, Father Son Holy Ghost and whatnot--and it's traditional in fairy tales. You never hear the story about the Two Little Pigs, or Goldilocks and the Two Bears. Three is the perfect number." He's not listening to me. How can I tell? He's left, that's how. He's gone and wandered off into the shelves. Well!
Two indeed. I suppose I should have recommended A Tale of Two Cities.

10:45 AM
Except I hate Charles Dickens. I refuse to recommend him to anyone.

11:03 AM
I'm taking a break. The library's quiet today, so I doubt there will be any emergencies in my absence. I like it back here in the employee lounge; no one is allowed back here but Macy and I and my boss, and he never shows up unless he's angry. I can look out the window to the back of the library from here; usually it's just a view of the empty parking lot (a scene of depression), but it's got the carnival now (a scene that invokes suicidal tendencies). I can see a girl in a big, horrendously yellow raincoat getting onto the ferris wheel; normally I don't single out people to watch like this, but it's hard not to single her out. She's like a single ray of sunlight in a dungeon; the yellow against the stark grey sky is brighter than anything else outside. The gaudy lights and colors of the carnival have been dulled with splattered mud and grey light and fog; even the royal purple tent of the so-called medium looks less royal and more like an old bruise. Uffda, I'm making myself ill.

11:10 AM
And I'm sick to begin with. I think I'll go back to the library counter now.

5:30 PM
I ran into Mr. Yilmaz in the elevator and he agreed to fix my heater. Wonderful!

5:31 PM
He's coming at six tomorrow.

5:32 PM
Oh god. What will I wear?

5:33 PM
I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in...

5:50 PM
My dentures.

12:00 AM
I can't sleep. Be still, my beating heart.

12: 04 AM
Only not really still. As in, dead still. Dead being the operative adjective.

Definitely not a Pigeon

9:00 AM
Well, here I am at the library. For once, Macy arrived on time; she was here in time to help me ready the library for opening. I hope she makes a habit of it.

9:10 AM
No one in the library. Except, of course, Macy, but right now she's pacing at one of the windows and looking up at the densely clouded sky, as though hoping for Jesus to pop out of the clouds and say 'yes, Macy. It's all true. Repent and believe!'

9:23 AM
Except I don't believe Macy is talking to God. What's she saying? Something about friends forgetting her.

9:25 AM
I'm bored. I think I'll drink some tea.

12:25 PM
Macy left to go out on her lunch break, but she came back rather quickly, running like a madwoman. She kicked up her heels off the ground very high and slammed the library door after her. I would scold her, but my mouth is full of cheese and crackers. Ah well. She looks like something just tried to eat her.

12:28 PM
Checked out the window for suspicious, man-eating animals. So far, no Godzilla is visible. I think Macy just had a nervous breakdown, poor girl.

2:45 PM
Drank 2 liters of hot tea.

2:46 PM
More importantly, I've gone to the bathroom more often than I think must be healthy.

3:00 PM
There's a bird on the window sill outside the library.

3:01 PM
Quite a large bird, actually. I haven't got my glasses on at the moment, so I can't make it out very well.

3:02 PM
Perhaps it is a pigeon.

3:02 PM
I hate pigeons.

3:05 PM
I'm going to bang on the window pane and make it go away.

3:05 PM
That is definitely not a pigeon, now that I get closer to it.

3:06 PM
Good heavens, it's a chicken. And there are about five more in the ratty little scrap of grass in front of the library, pecking away like mad. I suppose all this wet weather really brings up the earthworms; a chicken's smorgasbord.
But that is not the point; the point is, there's a posse of chickens in front of my library. And the second point is... Why is there a group of chickens in front of my library?
"Macy, come here a moment." As weird as that girl is, she might know where the chickens came from. Or maybe because she's so weird she might know. "Look--there are chickens in the front yard."
Macy looks rather terrified. "They tried to get at me when I was outside before! Why are they there? "
Drat. My source of neighborhood information has failed me. She also appears to be hanging onto sanity by a thread. But I'd best respond. "I haven't the foggiest."
"Foggiest what?"
These young people. Don't even know a commonplace idiom. "I haven't the faintest idea," I translated out of the goodness of my heart.
"Well, should we do anything about them?" I can detect a note of worry in Macy's voice. Perhaps she thinks I will make her do something about them.
"No, just leave them. They're only chickens." And even mad birds like chickens have the right to roam free. Just as much right as an old woman, I should say.

3:10 PM
Macy's gone to hide in the Astronomy Section.

3:30 PM
Hahaha. Chickens move in a funny way, jerking their legs in time with their heads, like little wound-up clockwork toys. Bokbok. Bokbok. It's fun to make a chicken voice and strut about like one of the silly birds.

3:32 PM
I should stop doing this in public. One of the people in the Romance Section gave me a funny look.

Before the Earth Cooled

5:08 AM
The nice Mr. Altan fixed my ceiling last night. I'm very happy with the results. I don't know what he did, but my apartment is now rain-free.

5:10 AM
Perhaps he can fix my heater, too. I'm about to freeze to death in here. I've got three quilts here on the couch and I'm stuffed in the center of them like an apple stuffed in a roast-pig's mouth, on the verge of being swallowed by blanket fluff. At this rate, I'll suffocate before I freeze to death.

5:18 AM
Lalalalala, tea is ready!

Fat kettle, shrieking
Your high sweet torturous note
screams: Tea is ready.

5:20 AM
Cheese, crackers, and I've cut up an apple... A perfect breakfast. Actually, the tea is what makes it perfect.

6:00 AM
My umbrella has a broken spoke; Mr. Altan wasn't able to keep it from snapping when he pulled it from the vent last night. I shall fix it with string.

6:04 AM
The string is not working.

6:10 AM
Die, string. Die.

6:15 AM
Alright. I've glued the spoke with Elmer's glue, wrapped it as best I could with duct tape, and wrapped it with string that I've saved from teabags. I've always saved my teabag string--the string that holds the little paper tab to the fat pouch of tea material, I mean. It's useful. You never know when you'll need some string, I always say.

6:18 AM
Like now. I just used some of that string I saved. I am NOT mad as a spoon, Sara Goodeart! Ha. I haven't seen my daughter for two years now. She probably thinks I'm dead as a door nail. And wouldn't that serve her right? I wish I could see her now.

6:25 AM
I'd wave my umbrella in her face and show her my teabag string, put to use. Mad, indeed! Look here, Sara!

6:27 AM
If only children listened to their mothers. They'd lead happier lives, I'm sure. Unless all mothers were like my mother, in which case we would have to despair for the human race.

6:30 AM
But I am nothing like my mother, so Sara ought to have listened to me.

8:00 AM
The doorbell's just rung, and now someone is knocking on my door. I suppose I should go answer it. Lalala...I have lots of tea. Yum. Oooh, this door sticks in the damp. Good heavens. There are two young men at my door. Well, one young man and a little boy. The little boy waved a clipboard in my face and coughed and puffed out his chest like a pufferfish.

8:01 AM
Only, of course, he isn't covered in spines and he's not a fish. That would be unfortunate for a little boy. Think of all the teasing.

8:02 AM
"Hello, Miss."
"Mrs." Just because my husband is dead doesn't mean I've lost my title.
"Mrs," the boy corrected himself very graciously. "Have you seen a number two anywhere?"

8:05 AM
I refuse to believe that I am going deaf. Therefore, I must have a build up of earwax.
"A number two, small boy-child?" I was never any good with children. Not even my own. What am I saying? ESPECIALLY my own.
"Er, yes. A number two. Like, you put it on your door." The boy pointed at my door where my apartment number is.
"Oh. No. I can't say that I have."
"Ok. Please tell me if you catch sight of it."
Catch sight of it? What is it, a fugitive? I can see it all now. The police have been trying to catch Number Two for a while now. Oh no! There it goes, harring down the street! Catch it! Catch it!
The little boy has walked off and he's pounding on the neighbor's door. The man--who could easily be my son, at his age--nodded politely to me and wandered on after the boy.
Perhaps they are father and son. I've never much paid attention to the people in this town. They'll all die soon anyways.

8:10 AM
Actually, it's more likely that I'll die first. I'm very old. I've been around her since before the Earth cooled.

The Monstrosity In My Back Yard

1:02 PM
Well. I've had a look out the back of the library and I've caught sight of that horrible carnival. Despicable. All those tents and rides and things. Will I go? I shall NOT!

4:00 PM
I have left the library to Macy. She'll close it up at 5.

4:02 PM
I think I'll take the long way home. A nice long walk will be good for me. I'll leave the bike here at the library.

4:05 PM
So my long walk home, unfortunately, goes through the carnival. I shall just have to put up with it.

4:10 PM
There's a big purple tent with embroidery all over it in the middle of the carnival. A long line of people are snaked out behind it; I wonder what's inside the tent?
"Excuse me, but what's inside that tent?" I asked, tapping a young man in line. He looked over and whispered,
"The medium is in there." I could barely hear him, he spoke so softly. He gave me a frighteningly intense look and turned back to face the person in front of him in line. The medium? What's the medium?

4:12 PM
Does the tent have the large and small, too?

4:13 PM
I think I'll wait and find out. It can't do any harm. I have a while before it gets too dark, anyways. I'm getting in line.

4:15 PM
I'm in line now. There's a scary young lady in front of me. She looks a bit...chilly.

4:17 PM
Really chilly, actually. I'm not sure if those things constitute as clothes. More like...bits of black handkerchief...held together with lace...

4:20 PM
I asked her if she was cold. She told me I was a creepy old woman. The nerve! I have half a mind to leave this line right now and never mess with this 'medium' of theirs. Ha! There are lots of medium things. I won't be missing anything.

4:40 PM
It's my turn! I can go in the tent! I'm going to find out what a medium is!! Wait until I tell my cats.

4:41 PM
It's a batty little woman in a black cape and with frizzy hair. I'm going to write a letter of complaint. Who runs these horrid little sideshow festivals, anyways? I waited half an hour in line for this?! She's telling me to sit down.

4:45 PM
So it turns out she's a fortune teller. She's even got a crystal ball. It's kind of a smoky-looking crystal. I can see her batty reflection in it.
I used to have a crystal ball like this in my garden in Texas. It was a bauble that caught the sunlight and reflected it into a thousand different spears of color. I had a large garden, before I lived in Sunnydene Retirement home. It had irises and morning glory and moonflower vines. And lots of violets. I do love violets. I also kept a sign in the yard that said, "R.I.P. : Here lie all the people that ever stepped foot in my lawn."
I never had any trouble with those pesky little neighborhood children, either. I did when I was in the home, though; they called it 'charity work,' but I don't see what's so charitable about some school forcing a bus load of elementary school children into an old person's home and telling them to be 'kind' and 'helpful.' If I ever have to listen to another chorus of little children sing happy songs like "This Little Light of Mine," I shall shoot them with my dart gun.

4:50 PM
But I digress. This medium woman--and that's actually quite a good description, she's neither short nor tall--says she's seen something in the crystal ball. Impressive. All I see is more rock.
"You will meet a dark stranger!" She sounds like a frog with a throat infection. "I foresee love!" I expect her to ribbet any time now. "Deep, passionate love!" Does she realize how old I am? Passionate love, indeed.

5:30 PM
Home at last. I told all the cats what happened to me. The medium lady asked me for money afterwards. The gall! All she did was spout garbage. If I weren't a lady, I'd say she spouted absolute shi--but I'm a lady, and I shan't say it. I shall tell Macy to not bother to go to the carnival. It will be a waste of her money.
Funnily enough, I saw something odd on my way home. It was raining--surprise, surprise; I don't believe the sky has taken a break from dripping like my plumbing for a solid month--and I saw a man fall down to the ground and start vomiting.

5:35 PM
You know what I think? I think he ate meat from that butcher shop. I felt a bit peaky from just smelling the place. I didn't say anything to the man; no telling where he'd been. Other than the butcher shop, of course.

5:38 PM
MY CEILING IS LEAKING! No. I refuse to be damp. The ceiling cannot be leaking. I'm not even on the top floor. How can a ceiling leak if the rain can't get to it?
The water is getting all over my sofa. This is unacceptable. Perhaps if I put my umbrella--

5:45 PM
Wonderful. My umbrella is stuck in the ceiling. The spokes are jammed up in the vent.

5:46 PM
And the ceiling is still leaking. I'm calling maintenance.

5:50 PM
OF COURSE NO ONE ANSWERED. I will die old and alone of pneumonia. My body will rot away and my cats will be forced to eat me because no one will be here to look after them. Then one day, someone will axe down the door because I haven't payed my rent. And they'll find my skeleton, floating in a puddle of dripped rainwater. THEN they'll be sorry. And my cats will be so starved that they'll eat them. Good. They deserve it.

5: 59 PM
That's it. I'm going to go down to the first floor and FINDING someone to fix my ceiling. I've got my extra set of dentures to clack at people who get in my way. For some reason, they tend to disturb people.

6:10 PM
I waited for the elevator to come, and when it did, it clattered and the doors opened, but the elevator box hadn't come level with the floor--it's below where it was supposed to be, about three-quarters over the rim of the floor. The little coffee man, Altan whatsit--I don't think I can pronounce his last name--is in it. And his coffee cart.
"Hallo." I greeted him, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to reply. Perhaps he doesn't understand English all that well; I've never had an actual conversation with him.
"HAL-LO!" When in doubt, speak louder and slower. Foreign people understand better that way. And indeed, he nodded and greeted me, by name, no less. He appears to know everyone's name. Now that I think of it, I'd seen him at the entrance of the carnival, selling coffee--he hadn't seemed to be making much money.
"WOULD YOU LIKE OUT? OUT EL-E-VA-TOR?!" I nodded and smiled, and he started nodding and smiling, too. I wonder if he's a simpleton.

6:15 PM
Good heavens, his cart is heavy. I'm pulling and he's pushing and lifting, but it certainly weighs more than I do. Uffda! There it is. All safe and sound. Perhaps I should help him up, too? He looks elderly.
Good heavens. He's heavy, too. What is it with all these heavy things? He's nearly pulled me in the elevator with him.
Ok, here we go.
"Thank-you Ms. Evans," he said. A gentlemanly simpleton. "Can I do anything for you? Would you like some coffee?" He looks so hopeful. "On the house." And now he looks depressed. What an odd little man.
OH! I have an idea.

6:20 PM
"Mr. Altan... I don't suppose you know anything about ceilings?" Well, it's a better bet than asking the idiots at the front desk. With any luck, he'll know more about ceilings than 'they go above our heads,' and 'they're not supposed to leak.'