Wednesday, May 26, 2004

I’m experimenting with a new work schedule. I’m getting in to work around noon and leaving between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m., then doing a few hours’ worth of work at home. I’m trying this because, for the past couple of months, my body has been refusing to awaken at 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. And I’m a big believer in reality, so I decided to fact reality and arrange my work schedule around my body’s actual sleep patterns.

I tell you, I felt odd typing away at my Syllable computer last night, glancing at the clock as it passed midnight, 1:00 a.m., and 2:00 a.m., knowing that this was okay. I’d have plenty of time to sleep in the morning.

And I did. I woke up refreshed and energized, like I used to. I’m not at 100% yet — based on past experience, that’ll take a week or two — but I sure feel a lot better.

And now, more of the VR story:

Thomas began considering options for escape. He glanced around the dingy room; the only thing near him was the nightstand, on which sat the flimsy VR goggles he’d used the night before. They hadn’t brought any extra clothes or luggage. He wondered where Doodlehopper had put her tazers. But they didn’t help either; Thomas was propped up on one arm and the sheets were twisted around him. He’d be hopelessly tangled before he got three feet, and that pistol was aimed straight at him.

He realized that the first thug was cringing. Heh. Thomas wished he could hear the reaming the guy must’ve been getting from “Boss.”

“Well, I wanted to know, Boss,” the thug said in a quiet voice, “should we shoot ’em now, right here?” He paused. “Yeah, it’s a motel room.” He looked around. “Yeah, pretty crummy.”

His attention returned to Thomas, who didn’t like the hardness that came to the thug’s eyes. “Okay,” the thug announced. “Yes. Roger. Thank you, Boss. Over and out.”

His eyes fully focused back on Thomas. “We need to get out of here,” the thug said. “Come along quietly.”

Thomas gambled. What if they couldn’t kill him there? “And what if I don’t?”

The thug’s mouth twitched down slightly in annoyance. “We don’t have ta do it someplace else.”

Thomas lsot. He sighed, and made slow movements to get up.

The first thug motioned his pistol towards Doodlehopper’s sheet-covered form and said to his companion, “Karl, get him up.” Karl sidled over to the bed and gripped the bottom of the sheet.

There was a sudden swirling of sheets, a couple of yelled oaths from the thugs, a blur of black and skin, a low hum, and the sudden acrid smell of ozone. Thomas managed to kick off his sheets and curl his body forward on the bed ready to leap off as the two thugs slumped to the floor like tipped sacks of coffee.

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