Hibernation

I wake up. Gray light falls through the curtains into my bedroom. A sleepy tabby is curled up on my legs, no doubt exhausted from a long night of conducting important cat business. I get up, get dressed, fill the food bowls, get coffee. Or maybe tea? It’s all the same, anyway. I turn on my computer. I should get to work…or maybe I should look at the news first. No.

I start typing. Letters, words, sentences…what’s the word I am looking for? Oh right: pages. Inconsequential streams of consciousness. Someone else’s idea of enjoyment. It gets old really fast.

Time doesn’t exist in my office. The curtains keep away the Outside, until the number of completed lines on my screen tell me it’s time for dinner. I go into the other room. It’s dark out, so it must be evening, yes? I cook. We eat in front of the TV while watching some show. It’s all the same, anyway.

Time to sleep.

[163 words]

Jitters

I am writing an online test today. That is what was scheduled to start five minutes ago.

I have just shot a quick e-mail to the agency managing the tests. Should I mention that these tests are a repeat of a test done in late October in the previous decade? My enthusiasm for this activity wanes with each passing minute. Next, my patience will begin to erode.

In the meantime, I have received three e-mails. One is advertising cheap accommodation near an airport I travelled to 18 months ago. As if I would go back there…

Oh, look, a new e-mail from the agency telling me that the tests for translation in the direction opposite to the one I travel in have been received. Let’s wait a little longer, she says, for the test that I am supposed to be doing. I don’t have all day, I think. And then I remember that there is always that expression beginning with F.

I still plan to have T-shirts, or tea towels emblazoned that on it, by the way. Ah, but what about my reputation? The test people have got another 15 minutes of my time. And after that’s done, forget it.

I have other things to do. Who knew?

©2019 Allison Wright
[199 words]

Why?

Translators.

We strive to understand the meaning behind the words. To dig deeper. To get it.

Why then can some of us not understand the meaning of:

Rest in Peace

When one of us has passed away?

Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard

Words: 37 Stewing about it: for some hours Writing: 4 minutes Correcting: 4 minutes

Unbidden

Unbidden, in a constant surge, that’s how it comes. What it this “it”? It is the language all around us that begs transformation. It begs to be translated, juggled with, driven down etymological paths to dead-ends where knowledge fails.

No matter, for it backtracks and springs up anew, and slashes a track through overgrowth, climbs rocks, and swings from tree branches. I did once scream inside my head to the panoramic view of my village on the hillside that I am a translator. The village was silent. I wept.

I was smoking a cheap rolled cigarette, leaning against the wall of a laundry for that monologue. I had been elbow-deep in bleach perfecting the art of stain removal from sheets all morning. A daily penance for unknown sins. Clumsy swollen fingers not good for typing. But in those free ten minutes, my head was flooded with fresh, clean words that come – that always come, unbidden.

©2019 Allison Wright
[158 words]