Snarkattack

Note: just lost a nice chunk of typing…right about here. Take 2 below.

The following week (the day I now refer to here on was in fact yesterday), after mention of my piece, a crash course in Adobe InDesign on an Apple for me. I’ve e-mailed my piece beforehand, but haven’t thought of it. I’m supposed to be creating the quarterly newsletter for the organisation, and just farting around, getting used to the software and the damn Mac (damn Apple MacIntosh, not MAC Cosmetics).

On the computer ‘desktop’, I see my beloved literary labour. Surprise, fear and excitement hit me - in the gut, of course - all at once. But rational self soon pretends it didn’t happen and starts pondering:

SCENE 1

G, seated at computer, at typical tertiary staff office. On her side, an older man, person to whom office belongs. G distractedly clicking mouse, absorbed by something on-screen. Occasional poking of random keys on keyboard. She spots something specific, moves in closer to scrutinise. She mouths the words ‘Après Sir Thomas Wyatt’ and immediately gives a small start in her chair. Taps desk nervously with right index finger, begins gnawing on left thumb. Looks to start to utter something but sighs, gently slumps into chair.

OM: So, how are you going there? Alright?
He is talking as he sorts through papers he is looking through.

G: Uh…yep, getting the hang of it.
G shakes herself and settles into work, ignoring that she has seen something of interest on the computer screen.
END OF SCENE 1.