Saturday, April 08, 2006


"Is this an intervention?" I call softly through the layers of blankets wrapped much too tightly around my face.

I'm bumbling around on the hardwood floor and being jabbed in the gut by at least three pairs of feet and poked at by arms that seem to be fastening belts around my middle section, which is already rolled up in two or three woolen army issue blankets. It's too muffled and chaotic to hear the voices attached to my assailants, so I'm unsure whether or not they're familiar. Not that that would answer any of my questions. If it's an intervention, I'm told it's best to remain rational--calm--to prove there's nothing worth intervening. If, on the other hand, it's an abduction, I really ought to be putting up more of a fight.

"Hi," I meekly say, playing it cool, "hey, what's going on here?" In an unprecidentedly rational move, I ask, "is there something I should be concerned about?" My question is answered when my body is spun around and the back of my head makes solid contact with the leg of my end table. The cheap lamp and ashtray on top rattle angrily.

All of the sudden, they hoist me into the air. From my perspective, I'm really only able to see a trapezoid shaped slice of the ceiling as we bump down the corridor. I see the dusty moulding in the stairwell, which I have somehow never noticed before. The stairs always smell kind of oily. Today is no different. They are carpeted, so my assailants don't make too much sound as they jostle me around the tight turns and down the many flights. If this is an intervention, I'm grateful they're quiet so nobody pops their heads out their doors and sees me getting carried off to the looney house. If, however, it's an abduction, I wish someone were to hear my increasingly faint cries and check up on what's going on.

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