MAIN » ARTICLESThe Iain (Rawson) Experience, part 5
Dr Rog’s Diary: Week 596, Day 4174
I awoke to the Sounds of Amazonia, an audio casette. I had bought it for Dr. Shields' birthday but kept it for myself. It reminded me of my time in the jungle and the thousands of mosquitos that invaded my sack night after night to feed on my pure, succulent flesh - it used to keep me up all night. I have no idea how to turn it off. Sometime in the Christmas holidays, over two months after buying the tape from Institute Gift Shop B on Operations Deck 2, I had put it into my HiFi to remind me of the jungle. Unfortunately, two problems arose from this, the first being that my HiFi automatically plays casettes on infinate repeat, and secondly after we spent a week decorating this room it was discovered that the machine was now located inside the left-hand wall after someone had the excellent idea of building it again 2 feet closer in. It was decided at the AGM that the only way to get it out was with a hammer, but unfortunately it won't be until the next meeting that the vote on whether or not to find the hammer takes place.
After slowly pulling myself off the floor I opened the door and saw my mail lying on the floor. A person could go insane trying to understand how the mail not only got into the building, but also who delivered it every day to the right room despite nobody knowing where anyone else was every night. I had seen Dr. Randy sleeping on a pool table in one of the staff lounges last week, but the chances are he won't be there now. I didn't go insane, but something told me I would be needing my spiderman outfit before the day was out.
"HOLY JESUS WHAT ARE THESE GOD DAMN ANIMALS"
After sifting through six envelopes with 'GOTCHA' (Technician Hardcastle's Calling Card) written on, I came to the only piece of genuine post - the one not written in pink felt-tip by someone with the handwriting of a small child. It was a bill for 6 months Time Magazine subscription, addressed to Dr. Robert Hendy.
Seven minutes and eighteen seconds after opening the door to leave, I found myself in the corridor outside. 'This paint could do with a new coat' I thought outloud as I stare at a crack in the wall almost halfway up. There were more important things at hand however, so I rushed to the bathroom to relieve myself. I washed my hands and looked up to see my reflection in the mirror, 'what was I doing here' I thought, simultaneously realising almost all of my philisophical moments seemed to occur on, or around the toilet. Behind me was a bath and a toy boat on the floor, like a fish out of water it seemed to represent my whole life up until now. The five plants on the window sill wilting in the artificial light as the air conditioning hummed away. But it was quieter in here than out there, and despite the many varieties of cleansing products and cotton wool rolls that filled the ledges, it seemed quite empty, almost lonely. There was also a tennis ball by the toilet, but I couldn't draw any useful conclusions from that.
I reached down to the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a tin of white paint and headed for the crack.
Written by Jay
I awoke to the Sounds of Amazonia, an audio casette. I had bought it for Dr. Shields' birthday but kept it for myself. It reminded me of my time in the jungle and the thousands of mosquitos that invaded my sack night after night to feed on my pure, succulent flesh - it used to keep me up all night. I have no idea how to turn it off. Sometime in the Christmas holidays, over two months after buying the tape from Institute Gift Shop B on Operations Deck 2, I had put it into my HiFi to remind me of the jungle. Unfortunately, two problems arose from this, the first being that my HiFi automatically plays casettes on infinate repeat, and secondly after we spent a week decorating this room it was discovered that the machine was now located inside the left-hand wall after someone had the excellent idea of building it again 2 feet closer in. It was decided at the AGM that the only way to get it out was with a hammer, but unfortunately it won't be until the next meeting that the vote on whether or not to find the hammer takes place.
After slowly pulling myself off the floor I opened the door and saw my mail lying on the floor. A person could go insane trying to understand how the mail not only got into the building, but also who delivered it every day to the right room despite nobody knowing where anyone else was every night. I had seen Dr. Randy sleeping on a pool table in one of the staff lounges last week, but the chances are he won't be there now. I didn't go insane, but something told me I would be needing my spiderman outfit before the day was out.
"HOLY JESUS WHAT ARE THESE GOD DAMN ANIMALS"
After sifting through six envelopes with 'GOTCHA' (Technician Hardcastle's Calling Card) written on, I came to the only piece of genuine post - the one not written in pink felt-tip by someone with the handwriting of a small child. It was a bill for 6 months Time Magazine subscription, addressed to Dr. Robert Hendy.
Seven minutes and eighteen seconds after opening the door to leave, I found myself in the corridor outside. 'This paint could do with a new coat' I thought outloud as I stare at a crack in the wall almost halfway up. There were more important things at hand however, so I rushed to the bathroom to relieve myself. I washed my hands and looked up to see my reflection in the mirror, 'what was I doing here' I thought, simultaneously realising almost all of my philisophical moments seemed to occur on, or around the toilet. Behind me was a bath and a toy boat on the floor, like a fish out of water it seemed to represent my whole life up until now. The five plants on the window sill wilting in the artificial light as the air conditioning hummed away. But it was quieter in here than out there, and despite the many varieties of cleansing products and cotton wool rolls that filled the ledges, it seemed quite empty, almost lonely. There was also a tennis ball by the toilet, but I couldn't draw any useful conclusions from that.
I reached down to the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a tin of white paint and headed for the crack.
Written by Jay