Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland
Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland
Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland
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Oh, God, I think I'm looped right now - but it was only one tequila shot, and my period was a week<br />
ago, so I don't know why I'm so wound up. It's going to be light soon. It'll be a clear, cool day, like<br />
summer, but the sun's too low on the horizon.<br />
Seasons have always had a strong effect on me. For example, everyone has a question that assaults<br />
them the moment they're awake in the morning - usually it's "Where am I?" or sometimes "What day is<br />
it?" I always wake up asking "What season is it?" Not even the day but the season. A billion years of<br />
evolution summed up in one simple question, all based on the planet's wobble. Oh, but I wish it were<br />
spring! And oh - if only I could smell some laurels in the path outside the building! But then, on the other<br />
hand, if I'm honest, I have to remember that it takes bodies longer to decompose in fall and winter. Oh,<br />
Jason, I'm so sorry, honey, I'm sorry I just thought of you like you were merely biomass like potting soil<br />
or manure or mulch. That's obviously not true. I don't know what happened to you, but you're still just<br />
Jason. You haven't turned into something else yet.<br />
And Allison, you evil cheesy witch. You won't pick up the phone. How dare you. I'm going to find you.<br />
Yes, I'm going to find you.<br />
Tuesday morning 11:00<br />
I'm writing this directly into the courtroom's system. Who cares?<br />
A half-hour ago the unthinkable happened: my cell phone went off in the middle of a cross-examination.<br />
Whole years go by without people even noticing we exist. We're not supposed to draw attention to<br />
ourselves - and so there I sat looking like a twit to everybody in the room, phone bleeping away.<br />
Granted, it was probably the most interesting thing to happen in that courtroom since the double murder<br />
trial back in '97, but people are staring at me, willing my cheeks to flush red, trying to make me know<br />
that they know about me. If you were looking at me as I write this, you'd never know that all I want to<br />
do in this world is kidnap Allison and tie her to a rack and demand that she tell me what's going on with<br />
Jason.<br />
As I turned off the phone, I checked the call display, and of course it was Allison, finally. It's all I can do<br />
right now to not climb the walls with my teeth.<br />
Oh, God. Look at these men. What drudgery are these dirtbags discussing now? They're all crooks.<br />
You can't imagine all the mining and real estate and offshore crap that wends through this room. You'd be<br />
shocked. They'll bankrupt widows and they'll only get a minimum fine and some golf tips from their<br />
lawyers. I bet Allison was married to one of these guys. What was his name? Glenn. Uh-huh. Glenn,<br />
who probably had a 23 handicap, a cholesterol count of 280, and a handful of semitraceable shell<br />
corporations. I've met enough Glenns in my time. Some of them hang around at the end of the day and<br />
try to pick me up, which I didn't use to mind because it meant that at least I wasn't invisible. But now?<br />
Glenn. Now I hate Glenn, because Glenn is connected to Allison, and Allison is a witch.<br />
Oh Lord, when is this morning's session going to end?<br />
And Heather, aren't you the one who's up the creek, paddle-free, once they read this transcript? Screw<br />
it. Nobody ever does.<br />
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