When Tomorrow is Today

Or the other way around.

Wednesday is the day I do a post. It’s funny though, because my Wednesday is Tuesday for M (and a few others), so they get a message from the future when they read my posts and emails.

I live in Tomorrow, and I can — therefore — give tips on what’s going to happen. Well, I can, can’t I? Isn’t that how it works? If I live in the future, and figure out how to get a message to someone who lives in today, I can give them some indication of which path to take, which options to choose, which …

Well, we all know how rubbery that is, but it’s funny to my mind at the moment. I’ve been doing freewriting exercises to try to figure out how to get up to a decent output using one hand. I know, I know, lots of people use two fingers, or four fingers, or hand write, or … Well, you get the idea. But, and for me it’s a big but (not that sort!), I have come from a very recent time of being capable of typing 100k words per week. Then it went down to 50k. Now, I’ve gone down to using one hand. The left hand. And today, rather than typing at up to 100 wpm (my avg typing speed), I got up to — ta-dah! — 25 wpm with my left hand.

My back aches. It was already painful, now it’s horrendously agonising to try to move anything in any direction. And I keep trying to use my right hand. It’s habituated. It wants to work; it’s used to doing stuff, but as soon as I do, the pain creeps into the shoulder, cramps up, leaps into the elbow, and then stamps on the hand.

I described it to a professional as ‘It feels like a half-track rolled it – slowly.’ For a start, she didn’t know what a half-track was, or why it was important to say it was slow. A half-track is metal, with big gripply ridges that dig up everything they come in contact with.

I thought it was a good description. I thought it apt. She gave me the look that indicated I was mad, or drugged. Maybe I should just have said ‘tank’ – but being specific is important. A tank has tracks that go the whole length, and a half-track has — you guessed it — tracks for half the length of the vehicle.

And that’s 400 words. Tomorrow I might be … not here, because I was already there.

 

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I am not here; you cannot see me; I am invisible