Thursday October 13th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the impression.

Bakery was super quiet this morning - I didn't sell my first cinnamon bun until 10:45. I hope there was a lunch time rush after I left at 11. The cold, windy weather didn't help people get out of bed, I'm sure, so maybe it was just a later than usual arriving crowd today.

Kat's parents are returning tomorrow evening and there are still lots of Ambrosia apples on the trees, so Max and I went out to get some of them into the cooler before they go bad in the orchard. We (well, he helped with the first one) got four crates, totaling around 92 pounds. Pretty sure I can find customers for all of that.

Day off tomorrow, but the forecast is calling for more rain. I think I hear the coffee shop calling my name...

Mine:

"So, what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Of what? Of my Jack Nicholson impression!"

"That was supposed to be Nicholson?"

"Supposed to be? It was spot on, man!"

"I thought you were doing Lucille Ball."

"You... Lucille... okay. Hold on. Let me do my Sean Connery for you."

"I'd really rather you didn't..."

2 Comments:

Greg said...

Mentioning cinnamon buns makes feel me slightly hungry; I think it's a pavlovian reaction. Although I have just made coffee too and a cinnamon bun would go very well with it. That's a lot of apples considering you're making it sound like you felt the harvest was over! Did you get any to store for yourselves?
Haha, Lucille Ball is a little bit far back for me; I have dim memories of seeing clips The Lucy Ball show in black and white but that's about it. But I still can't imagine how bad the impression of Jack Nicholson must have been to achieve that level of confusion! Lovely comedy :)

The impression
The guru's office was on the thirty-fourth floor and had floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a superb cityscape. There was a desk at one end of an enormous room, angled so that the guru could look up from his computer at any time and see the city. It had to be inspirational to have that view any time you wanted it. James wondered what sunrise or sunset would look like from here, and smiled. Then shivered. The air-conditioning was set a little too low for shirt-sleeves.
"Mr. Emerson!" The guru came out of a door that James hadn't noticed -- an executive washroom perhaps -- and smiled broadly. He was short, had wiry hair that would have suited a terrier better, and rimless round eyeglasses like John Lennon. His skin was the same colour as mahogany and his teeth were a perfect, startling white. He also charged $180 an hour. "You're exactly on time!" James reflexively checked his watch, but the guru was right. The guru was always right. "Come, come over here and sit."
James sat opposite the guru, cross-legged on the floor. He faced the window, the guru faced him.
"Close your eyes," said the guru, which caused a momentary sense of regret for James. "Close your eyes, and start the breathing cycle we practiced. I want you to enter your relaxed state and then hold yourself there. Listen to everything, feel the movement of air against your skin, the sterile taste of the air-conditioning on your tongue - all of it. I want you to get such a strong impression of this office that you, in a sense, become the office."
James breathed in, using his diaphragm to fill his lungs deeply, held it for the count of three, and breathed out slowly. He started to relax almost immediately: they'd been doing this for several sessions now.
"To be something is to understand it," said the guru quietly.
James relaxed quickly and starting forming impressions of the room. He noticed immediately that he felt colder, and realised that he must be more aware of it. He felt like he was reaching out with his mind; the air was cold and crisp and hairs stood up on his arms like he could identify each of them individually. There was a scritching sound above him, there must be a mechanical issue with the AC. Something skittered, but his breathing remained deep, he was relaxed. The cold seemed to intensify but he felt impervious to it. Hands rested gently on his shoulders and he waited for them to start massaging tension out of his muscles.
"Open your eyes," said the guru, as though from a long way away.
A smooth, egg-shaped head with no eyes, nose, mouth or ears was in front of his face, so close he could have tasted its breath had it been breathing. The hands on his shoulders clenched tight, and the skittering noise got louder and louder.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, cinnamon buns and coffee are a great combination.

We're grabbing apples out of the cooler pretty regularly, so yeah, there was plenty enough for us too :)

Thanks!

I... was not expecting things to go in that direction. Well played, sir. Well played.