I know the old adage, "Don't let them see you sweat," but I'm starting to lose my grip and, with it, my ability to control the perspiration (another word for sweat).
In fact I'm sweating up a storm. I stripped my shirt off, then my undershirt. I've got my entire torso completely exposed and it's not doing much good. My pant legs are rolled up and I've got my feet soaking in a tub of cold water. I'd take my pants completely off but Grandma might wake up at any time. The last thing I want her thinking is that there's any hanky panky going on.
What's got me in such a stew is my new reality, the constant presence of and surveillance by the various industrial powers of the area. They're still in a multinational snit over my supposed insults against the industrial section of town. Little did I know that one local man could become the center of the industrial universe. But these guys you don't really want to mess with ... now they tell me.
The problem with them is that no one is big enough to tell them no. They've been so long segregated in their own little section of town, plus having buffaloed the world into thinking they're both indispensable and untouchable, they live above and beyond the rules. Rules don't exist for these guys. They're good at crushing an entire town, state, and nation, of course they can crush one guy. Occasionally they've been shooting a fiery blast of real fire over my house. It's a good thing I don't have a straw roof or my house would've been long gone.
Their demand is a simple enough one, to apologize. Which I feel like I'm just about to do. Just between you and me (although I know they monitor this blog when I'm able to post) I might be holding my fingers in the King's X mudra, because I know how to do some buffaloing too. How sincere do you have to be when you apologize anyway? Most people are just happy to see you go through the motions, to say the bare words. Because they're lucky to get that. These blasted industrialists probably feel the same way. If you go through the motions, they count it good.
Still, I have my pride. And I'm not just going through the motions on that.
I know you're interested in how I'm managing to post this blog today, since the electricity is off, etc. I'm shut down in this little island which is my home. It turns out I know something about hooking up a bicycle to a generator, then a generator to a computer and modem. I'm pedaling and typing at the same time, so it's all good. But a fireball could take even that out if they figure out which window to shoot through. (They may be powerful but they're not that bright.)
Whether I apologize or not is something I have to consider. I'm considering it right now. And sweating it out every minute as I go along. If I could overcome my pride, get the apology out of my reluctant mouth, and get on with it, things might be better. But then what? The industrialists would be able to trample others just as they've trampled me. Which they do anyway.