torque and clout

i tell you the truth: i live in a time warp and a discursive nightmare. at certain times, these merge into an existential drawl from which escape is impossible.

two days before leaving, and the 16th in a long parade of suit...i mean, subletters finally passes whatever test exists behind what looks an awful lot like passive-aggressive dawdling power.

it's bad enough that everyone in the house had to get together, discuss the matter, have a period of quiet meditation, discuss again, think, make up some new rules, shoot down several candidates without mentioning the outcome to anyone, discuss, create some scandals about the new potential (lined up, i might add, in 6 post-gunning hours), vote in theory and dreams (by Sunday night), do some gardening (by which is meant: gazing on the backyard and speculating about the correct position for the plastic tubing to stake as-yet-nonexistent tomatoes), discuss the fact that the deadline for voting seemed to have just passed, contemplate the fact that after the 10 years under which the Dissertation has supposedly been underway perhaps another path should be chosen or the task taken up in multiple-time, discuss intricate matters of House policy and the likelihood of them changing in the next 500 years, decide against both courses of action regarding the Dissertation, decide (this time for) on the immutability of House Rules (but not let this stop any further inchings of discussion).

and, with that burst of decisive activity—now that it's Tuesday (which could, upon discussion, be Sunday, except for the little detail of its being plainly not—opt to cast the (wholly meaningful) ballot on the way down for breakfast at noon:

11 (in favour) to 1 (abstaining).
phew, that was close, folks.
i'm so glad we didn't—horrors!—muscle anything hasty.

and as for the one with the chewed-to-scrags fingernails and the anger problem, crawling the windowed walls upstairs (like Superman or Jesus)? well, she wasn't allowed to vote, anyway. good thing, too: she might have flipped the Cause/Effect switches back into their correctly-pointed directions....

get this, though: the approved woman is a member of the same organisation of graduate student co-ops (of which there are three in the nation; all contact whatsoever between them has, however, ceased several years ago) in Ann Arbor. so not only did this whole tenuous procedure revolve around (and develop into, via contentious/licentious fabrications and embellishments) a debate (read: discuss) to the death for the Absolute Best Possible Person i could have ever found for the highly specialised position of inhabiting my room—but it's been totally forgotten that (using the Powers of Venn i always forget to incant...just as they are clearing the door without knocking) i may have facilitated a revolutionary rejuvenation of camaraderie among the members of the waning-into-deliberation (until the last second) fraternal organisation, itself. perhaps there will be conference-called discussions—and field trips to Ithaca....

now i find myself in the all-too-familiar situation of having to pack up my belongings (both those which i am taking and those i'm leaving) in the next couple of hours. the last-second joy floors me dustlessly.

i have, incidentally, procured an amazing amount of furnitures over the past 24 hours, paying nary a cent and carting solely with weakling arms and mighty bike (Blue Marvel of infinite charm and wheely roles). if, while doing so, i'm reminded of and (fancy myself) aligned with a certain Archimedes, that is because: steering and perspective are both the length and the solidity sought.

the question, however, after the sweaty deeds are accomplished: would the one who would lever the world have then made off like a bandit with it, cackling Moxy Früviacally?