She knew she was controlling, wanting to know what was going on, anytime, anywhere. Now the job was done, her lakeside getaway beckoned. She tidied her desk and ran, with careless abandon. But instead of the car park, she's back in her office. Damn, she thought, back in the loop.
She felt a tremor of excitement, a frisson of anticipation. It all came down to this. Everything was arranged, there was no turning back. The other participants in this, what she called 'a Gothic drama', may be secured with zip locks and gags but for her, it was a collaboration. Image source: Wallpaper Abyss
Thank you, those tiny number of miniscule you who acknowledge my existence , when you can or where there's fuck all else to do, THANK YOU. I''m really grateful to you because, hey, you amount to the achievement (however minor) to which I've always aspired, to connect to people who think.
Isn't it unfortunate that a word like 'blanket' can be so misused and abused it's become a shorthand phrase for corporate smothering, indiscriminate bombing and wholesale exploitation? Growing up, a blanket was something a cowboy toted with his saddle and bags, it kept you warm and gave a child comfort.