I was living in a giant house that was a skyscraper; it was a cult, or religious house or something, full of women. there was a special elevator to the first floor, then a regular elevator from there to the other floors. a guardian sat always in the throne by the special elevator (a different guardian each time, once it was a unicorn), of whom I would ask permission to use the elevator. the first time, the guardian said, “of course, dear, but it has a password.”
“what is it?”
“you have to guess it. it’s a test: if you don’t get it, you can’t go up.”
I hesitated, then whispered to the empty elevator chamber, “disillusion.”
a golden staircase, with one stair, came spiralling grandly down into the chamber. I stepped onto the stair, and waited for something to happen, which did not. I whispered my password again, and up the stair spiralled.
each time I used the elevator I used a different password. if I accidentally forgot it and used an incorrect second one, some dire punishment would befall. dunno what, ’cause I didn’t forget one.
there was much more: being lost in winding hallways, everything carved, sneaking into a restaurant, my friends disappearing one by one and no one noticing it but me, I started to shrink.
we just got back from Sarah’s birthday dinner at Kingsford’s, only I couldn’t eat, so got a salad that everyone else ate. I did eat the complimentary sorbet though. yumm. and! no vituperative arguments broke out, not a single one! hurrah.
unlunch with Trina: I don’t know if i’ve mentioned it before, but she’s been planning to open a newsagency at the new mall going up at Clifton Beach. the owner of it had an agreement with her, and even gave her exclusivity on newspapers/magazines and books. A big part of it, though, is Golden Casket, a big stupid gambling corporation (lotto and scratchies and stuff) with outlets in all major newsagencies. if they turned down her application for a Golden Casket outlet, then she wouldn’t be able to go through with the newsagency at all, because Golden Casket is what makes newsagencies successful, or something.
anyway, she called Golden Casket the other day, wondering why she hadn’t heard back from them. they told her there had been another application: the guy who owns the Trinity Beach newsagency the culprit. that evil man! he knew she was applying, and of course they’ll pick someone with an already established business over her!
when she asked the owner of the mall-to-be about it, he said that he’d allowed it just in case they’d rejected her application. what a load of crap, that filthy hateful liar! I hate them, I hate them all!
she’s put so much effort into it and has all these hopes and dreeeeams. and cried when she found out. the tears of others drive me mad with .. the fierce desire to make them stop.
one more thing. Christmas shopping! a Dean.. Koontz? book for mumm, a golf glove for daydream, a Myer voucher for Sarah, wild turkey for Trina and Roger. so that’s half of it done. well, almost. some, anyway.
oh, and the So Fresh CD for Sarah’s birthday. *shudder*