[insert Historical Fiction excerpt here] Rubbish.“I feel like it was just yesterday I was in my nebula ranger pajamas and two curly pigtails, sitting on my grandfather’s lap, teaching him how to use a holographic screen marker, and now I’m creating the next best things! He’d be so proud, but I’d just tell him, it was always meant to be.” That was the heartfelt remembrance by the owner and CEO of metalDreams inc., Yvonne Ricks, right before the unveiling of two new devices, sure to change the world, YOUR world. In our upcoming interview, we get to know the ‘real woman’ behind the technology and find, there IS humor in algorithms… Unrealistic! It was his innate ability to understand a foe’s next 3 steps before he himself did. That’s just the way Jacquard was. “Stop! You Scoundrel!” said Jacquard, valiantly. With no ideas, and less room to escape, the thief was caught. “Well done Jacquard! Prince of Light!”, exclaimed his riding boy Tawley. “The king knew you’d be able to handle it prince!” “Another righteous win my lord!” “Truly the best!” blah, blah, blah. “Who cares about his successes?! I need to know how he got there! Was he predestined (as if there’s such a thing), or did he work his butt off as a ‘riding boy’ for years before he was given the big cases? [Talk about Lucy reading multiple books, and throwing them down here] Why am I talking to myself?! Ugh...” We come into the scene, a young woman reading a favorite fantasy novel, one she has read 13 times before. She is alone in her bedroom, and the night is creeping by. She seems exasperated by the story she knows so well; what she doesn’t know is how exasperating LIFE can be. After months of pent up angst she’s about to pop. Soon, young sweet Lucy may regret ever looking into her “destiny” She may regret stepping up to the challenge, but then stranger things have happened… (in the twilight zone.. dum dum dummmm…)
I wonder why I can’t seem to keep a thought straight in my head. Where did that one thought go just now? I was wondering something to do with patterns…. Fabric patterns? No. Algorithmic patterns? No. Did it have to do with dishcloths? I think I was thinking of dishcloths a minute ago, maybe something I’d like to sew together? OR was it a dishcloth I saw in the store? I just can’t seem to keep any of it straight! How did I ever get through University?!
As the night grew long, Lucy decided to crawl into bed, turn on her trusty heating blanket, and read a few more pages before nodding off. The air was a bit cold for the skin, but just right for the lungs. It helped her sleep if the air was thinner than normal, and the winter night chills tended to thin out the air enough for Lucy to get a good night’s sleep. The seven blankets she piled on top of her bed were of varying textures and colors. Some were summer quilts reused during the coldest of winter nights, others were satiny primary color cotton sheets, perfect for finding a cold spot in the middle of a night sweat. It wasn’t long before Lucy was forced to blow out her bedside candle and retreat her head down to a flat pillow in order to sleep comfortably. Try as she might, she could never finish more than a page or two of a book if she was nestled under the security of her seven blankets.
The night was silent and still, save for the distant jingle of a dog’s collar, and Lucy was deep in sleep. She hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately, she woke up 3 times every night, around the same times, and always in a mini-sweat from either wearing too many layers to bed, or outfitting her mattress with too many layers. It was different tonight, just like the book; tonight Lucy slept a full night’s sleep, no interruptions, no uncomfortable sweating. But by the morning everything happened as it should.
Buhdaladadudaladadudadummmm
Buhdaladadudaladadudadummmm! There was a startling alarm, something that seemed to be running after Lucy, but at the very same time it WAS Lucy….
BUHDALAdadudaladadudadummmm!!
BUHDALADADUDALADAdudadummmm!!!
“Oh how I wish whatever that was would stop… it’s much too early to be annoyed, and I don’t want to miss my alarm going off…”
BUHDALAdadudaladadudadummmm!!
BUHDALADADUDALADAdudadummmm!!!
“Argghhh… when will it stop chasing me!? I can’t scuba with the caterpillars if that noise demands cheerfulness….”
SNAP, consciousness. Lucy opened one eye, the left eye, because she was sleeping on the right side of her face. It was a bad decision, she knew it from the first thought of opening her eyes, but she had to because something, or some one had told her to do so. Sadly, that someone was herself, so she found herself in quite the paradoxical morning. This wasn’t different from any of her other mornings really. Wake up, fall back asleep, wake up, turn on light, roll over, fall back asleep, think alarm is part of dream, ignore alarm for an hour, finally wake up to dump trucks driving through the neighborhood. And the grand finale, curse the late hour and overall short time left to get ready in the morning. With a few more curses, as she stumbles from room to room, adding another article of clothing here, object into bag there, Lucy is finally ready to brave the downstairs. She walks halfway down the steps and, “Fuck! My keys…” Leaping back up the stairs, Lucy deftly cracks open her bedroom door and shimmys her arm through the slit to get her keys from the black bowl next to the light switch (where it always is, and always is left forgotten). She turns back down the stairs, and takes a quick glance into the kitchen, “One part of my life I’m somewhat good at.” She muses, and then checks the clock and notices, “No time.” and again curses her laziness to get out of bed in the mornings. On the way out the door, Lucy is banged on, pinched, stretched, and tripped up by the multitude of items she’s juggling, and the multitude of a three door entrance system. Even though she grew up with one of those systems, she still can’t seem to grasp using them in an elegant manner. Bruised and battered, she heads towards her moto and starts to repack the saddle bags so she can finally take off from home base. It’s no easy feat for Lucy, mornings that is, and she notes this mentally, in case some one she encounters knows of other such unfortunate souls. Ten more minutes, and Lucy is finally revved up and on her way, not as dapper as prince Jacquard would have been, or as savvy as that gadget pro Ricks, or as prepared as the fortuitous Lady Jane, but at least she was on and out. 
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