Daniel Xonedu. 71.206.373.672.
The Global Record. Friday, October 2, 2128
It has been one of those weeks. Seven days that have sorely tested my patience.
My darling wife has been working herself into quite the tizzy, (though I do find that the resulting enervation has bestowed a comely blush to her cheeks.) The Laundry Machine, the Refrigerator, and the Vacuum Cleaner have all been on the blink these past seven days. And, as usual, it is extraordinarily difficult to track down the correct person with the correct know-how, who will actually present themselves at a mutually agreeable hour and fix the darn things!
When did all our bright young folk abandon the art of the electrician for the glories of atomic science?
No amount of paging will pin these mechanical moths to their place. Poor Eunice. She took on quite the dunce, for I am of no use to her when our domestic appliances creak.
It occurs to me, from time to time, that a great many of the esteemed members of The Committee could benefit from a lengthy spell in a mechanical workshop. There they could learn and practise the basic disciplines of assembly. It would serve than better than being permitted to spend their time in futile speculation. So many convoluted motions to be drafted, debated, amended and then, inevitably set aside for lack of agreement. So many words to be teased. So very little progress at the end of their games!
And yet we, the citizens, must forbear to sit by idly, while the elite snarl themselves in their creeds. Some day soon, and mark my words, the bombs and lasers will migrate once more beyond the empty yellow sands and they will wreak their havoc upon us all.
The time for debate at chamber is past. This is not a war that can hope to be won. I speak, as you know, from bitter experience. A pair of finely crafted titanium legs, bereft of the warmth of the flesh.
I have spoken once more out of turn. And so I desist.
Eunice, splendid girl that she is, is stewing some early pumpkin for the first pie of the season tonight. Can there be anything more comforting to the angst-ridden soul that the caramelised toffee of a good pumpkin pie?
I hope, dear reader, that wherever life finds you, someone is looking after you even half so well.
Daniel Xonedu. 71.206.373.672
Retired Colonel of the Northern Armies
Retired Professor of Divinities, Princeton University