“And where have you been?” said Annabel. He illusionary hands were on her illusionary hips. An accompanying scowl on her face was in preference to having a scroll on her face. Both may be possible, in the fiction of her existence, though her anger only made one of them appropriate.
“Busy,” said I, hoping the tone would display my need for advancement in the house towards the toilet.
“Not good enough.” Her elbows pointed to block my path. “I want to know what you have been up to.”
“A few weeks ago I had the whole copyright argument with a newspaper – newspaper-thing.”
Her scowl raised into an inquisitive brow furrow. Memory of the poaching of my article from this web site and its publishing without permission appeared in her mind, copied much like the offending editor did. “What happened with that?” she asked.
“We’re not on speaking terms. They seem to think the internet is fair game to pull material from, especially from lowly hacks like me. I and the Australian Law disagree. They haven’t replied since my last contact.”
“Oh, and that’s taken two weeks?”
“No, I’ve been working too. Punching numbers and shifting boxes in a warehouse. You know. Using skills people pay for.”
“Ah huh. Is there supposed to be some irony there?”
I scratched my head. As is often the case Annabel mirrored my actions. We looked over the last few sentences.
“No, no irony,” said I. “Some sort of poetic injustice I think. On the plus side I’m earning squid so that is good.”
“What does ‘earning squid’ mean?” Her elbows dropped as I past.
“It means I’m needing to go to the toilet and don’t have time to form correct sentences.” I locked myself in the small room near the back of the house and relaxed.
“Hopefully you’ll have time for me later,” she called. “Not that it’ll be worth anything.”