Sunday, August 5, 2007

Groundhog's Day!

Rita: I'm sorry? What was that again?
Phil: I'm a god.
Rita: You're God.
Phil: I'm a god — I'm not the God, I don't think……
Phil: [nods] Every morning I wake up without a scratch on me, not a dent in the fender: I am an immortal.

Unfortunately…..this feels like Hell.

If I have been somewhat quiet of late, it is because I have been living the same nightmarish day over and over again. However, unlike the Bill Murray character, there is nothing I can do to alter the events in my day. I must get up, get out of bed, check DO (dissolved oxygen), feed the fishes, take water quality, check DO, change the water, check DO, fill up the reserve tanks, change the nitrogen tank, check DO--day after tedious day. Yesterday and today--Saturday and Sunday—are sacred days known by man as the weekend. Usually this is a period to rest and re-charge, a time to socialize with friends. There was none of this. Why? Because the day that I am re-living over and over again doesn’t recognize weekends. Today I am exhausted as I was during the week. I have a whole week to look forward to without the benefit of having any rest. I want to cry.

Welcome to the Pit of Despair.

Westley: Where am I?

The Albino: [raspy voice] The Pit of Despair! Don't even think... [clears throat]

The Albino: ... don't even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. Don't dream of being rescued, either; the only way in is secret. Only the Prince, the Count, and I know how to get in and out.

Westley: So I'm here till I die?

The Albino: Until they kill you, yeah………

Westley: So it's to be torture?

The Albino: [nods enthusiastically]

Westley: I can cope with torture.

The Albino: [shakes head enthusiastically]

This endless day occurs in the building I have lovingly nicknamed the Pit of Despair—a dilapidated building that leaks like a sieve with it rains, smells musty and faintly of fish food, and is slowly but irrevocably crumbling to bits. I walk into the Pit of Despair in the morning only to leave it in the late evening having had one day tortuously ripped from me.....day after day. If you listen closely, you can hear me moaning in pain.

Count Rugen: [admiring his torture contraption] Beautiful isn't it? It took me half a lifetime to invent it. I'm sure you've discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain. Presently I'm writing the definitive work on the subject, so I want you to be totally honest with me on how the machine makes you feel. This being our first try, I'll use the lowest setting. [Count Rugen activates the water powered torture machine. Wesley writhes in great pain]

Count Rugen: [calmly] As you know, the concept of the suction pump is centuries old. Really that's all this is except that instead of sucking water, I'm sucking life. I've just sucked one year of your life away. I might one day go as high as five, but I really don't know what that would do to you. So, let's just start with what we have. What did this do to you? Tell me. And remember, this is for posterity so be honest. How do you feel? [Wesley cries and moans in pain]

Count Rugen: Interesting

How long is this torture sentence? As of this moment, I have twelve more days to go.

Phil: Do you know what today is?

Rita: No, what?

Phil: Today is tomorrow.

1 comment:

yola said...

Poor you! Hang in there and take some advice from old Mr. Emerson:

Mr. Emerson: My vision is within! [stabs chest vigorously with fork] Here is where the birds sing! Here is where the sky is blue!

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