So, we have a new iPad at work.
They’ve named it “Sonya Pad”.
Probably because it has my face as its wallpaper.
Because it’s new and I was testing some tables in our information system on it yesterday, so it was on my desk when one of the developers came in to ask how the testing was going (because it was nearing 7pm and the dude wanted to go home but had to wait until we testers gave him the green light that his bugs were fixed and they worked…) So anyway, he picked up the iPad and was fiddling with it for a while, asking questions, etc., when suddenly he said, “Smile.” and I just looked at him and the iPad CLICKED – and he’d just taken a picture of me.
So, for anyone who doesn’t already know, THIS is apparently what I look like when you tell me to smile.
Just kidding, that’s a shaved bear, which looks scary as crap. I have some of those in Cascade’s story (so much fun!) that she and Lunar have to–fight, flee? Which would you choose?
In any case, THIS is really what I look like when you tell me to smile.
I begin to understand why one of my friends told me I have a stone face.
Then my dear colleague made that darling face the iPad’s wallpaper, and I didn’t stop him because others were cheering him on by this point and my hands were clean – and when the OCD finally allows me to have clean hands, I’m loath to get them dirty for piddly reasons, so I wasn’t motivated enough to physically lunge for the iPad or anything uber-dramatic like that.
But not everyone knew about the new wallpaper… not my poor test teammate who, all unsuspecting, picked up the iPad some time later and swiped it to life–I heard him say “What the–”
He was looking at this:
“People are going to be afraid to use it!” he cried, but go figure, he left my face as the wallpaper, and after it got passed to someone else and he needed it again, he actually had the audacity to say, “Pass me the Sonya, will you?”
And thus iPad suddenly had a name – the whole testing team agreed on it (well, the other two guys there, that is). The SonyaPad.
Aaand here I am with a QR code on my forehead and a light bulb on my head. Symbolic any?
No worries, though, once our department head returns next week, he’ll fix it 🙂
In any case, if anyone was curious about my job outside of writing, we are serious there, man, can’t you tell?
And now – dun dun dun – the real reason I even write this blog, an excerpt, this one from Cascade’s story!
You taught me how to scream.
Do you remember? We were eight. Your mom and Ted took us to the amusement park, paying the exorbitant fee for us to get into the one place in the city where the public minions could hog all the oxygen they wanted by screaming on roller coasters and jumping about like maniacs in air castles.
We got on our first roller coaster together. You put us in the line for the car in front, grabbed my hand when we got in it and told me we had to use all the oxygen we were allowed, had to scream until we had none left in our lungs, until we were dizzy with too much and not enough all at once.
The cars lurched into motion, ratcheting up the tracks as we climbed that first drop. The metallic racket and jolting vibrations knocked us side to side and made our jaws and arms and ribs jiggle, as if our bones were clacking together under our skin. Our teeth clicked and clattered and, laughing, we made noises and warbled at one another on the way up. Our cheeks flushed with rampant joy, our eyes alight with sunbeams and each other. We neared the top. You raised our joined hands over our heads. Yelled at me to breathe in deep. As I did, I caught a glimpse of your shining eyes—deep breath—then blue sky—open mouth—and the metal tracks plunged straight down.
Air blew over our faces and hurled our hair straight back. Screams tore from our throats. Only metal latticing stretched before us, straight down to the concrete underneath the tracks. It was like weighing nothing but being dragged down in crazy-wild velocity. Our screams mingled with such intensity the pitch rang in my ears, rumbling just behind my skull. My entire body tuned in to the fine tremor of my vocal chords. My lungs emptied and filled and emptied again. I went lightheaded and giddy even before we hit the bottom and shot back up the next ramp. The coaster rattled over metal tracks, tilting one way around a curve, another way around another. Our shoulders bumped; our bones jostled inside bodies that wouldn’t stay still.
You taught me how to scream, Anza, and I loved it.
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