| 24 August 2006 Oxygen I'm in the smoking lounge at a major airfield. I am watching the power drain on my idiotic company laptop. My company has been purchased by the French, and the people that make the laptops have been bought by the Chinese. I am a few time-zones away from where my travel cup of once hot coffee sits on the counter in the kitchen, my truck is waiting in a garage at Dulles, and my gels and liquids are somewhere in this vast concrete concourse. It was a good flight that left on time, too early of course, with smooth air beneath the wings. Waking at three was no fun, but anticipating the anxious hoards at the airport I thought it was prudent. There was no one there, checking the luggage not a problem, and of course I was strip-searched. I caused the detector to beep, though there was nothing on my person except the religious medal on my wrist. That has passed without incident for five years. Perhaps they have tweaked the detectors again. I have never had a flight where everything worked. C'est la vie. The company has filed the paper with the government that will enable it to make a decision on whether the merger will proceed. The ninety-day clock now begins to run, and decisions must be made at some point. The month of August in Washington is a traditionally sleepy time, with the breathable air squashed low by the humidty. It causes us to walk slumped down by the Potomac. The forced inactivity has made this surreal. I crave action, and I feel the cooler air of the campaigning season coming on. With the war continuing, find myself restive. The forced inactivity of the window seat let me catch up on some reading. I made plans for how to exploit the coming collapse of the real estate market, as all those adjustable mortgages soar through the roof, and the owners cannot unload their properties. I think a trip tracing the path of the last Emperor of the Western Empire, from Ravenna to Rome and down the Via Appia is in order. With all that is so desperately wrong, I have no idea why I am feeling chipper and optimistic. Maybe it is that I think things are finally so clear that something will happen. Our enemies have declared themselves fully, and all the cards are on the table. People are beginning to waken from a long slumber, as if a pillow held over our eyes and mouths has been released. I feel it. Nonsense is starting to burn away in the blinding evidence of who wants to destroy us, and why. We know who the enemies are. We are going to take back Baghdad, block by bloody block, and then we will hand it over to the people who truly own it. I am oddly filled with hope. The West will not fall unless we permit it to, and I am armed in all the ways necessary to man my portion of the ramparts. Greenhouse gases can be mitigated. Prudent steps can be taken, and I believe that they will, if we all do what we must do. I am going to vote, as often as necessary, and change is going to come. Maybe getting up early and being deprived of oxygen is good for me. Maybe it is time for us all to walk up the stairs to the roof, and look out toward the horizon. Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra |