19 avril 2006

Where the author finds herself energetically proclaiming the way of the least effort to be the way to go

Y'all are aware of the fact... OK I can't really finish this sentence without asking if this "y'all" sounded about right? Can't blame a girl for trying, eh?
Right. So you know I'm half Corsican, yes? Which means I'm not a big fan of efforts. Just, you know, not a big fan. Some would say I'm lazy, well, that's not exactly it. I just think that there are ways around pointless expenditures of energy. Surely that's a defendable position?
So when I found myself going to see some friends who inconveniently live on the sixth floor, and no lift was in sight, I sighed loudly, and racked my brains for a potential accelerator. Needless to say I am not now and wasn't then in possession of any super-powered tights and cape. This wasn't going to be easy.
Six floors. Six flights of stairs. Five landings laughing at me. Heavens.
That's when my survival instinct kicked in. Have I told you how much I love my survival instinct? I love my survival instinct.
Something happened. Call it a brain wave if you want, I'll still thank my survival instinct. A long scarf was loosely wrapped around my neck. I grabbed both ends, around shoulder level, arms at a rather imprecise 45° angle, and pulled myself up. It felt like somebody else was dragging me. Quite surprisingly effective, really.
Of course, every now and again (and 6th floor, remember - 'every now and again' could make a few times) there was the odd surge of power on my part, when I was dangerously close to chocking myself to death. Now that would have been a sight. Thank god I'm not a British politician. "Girl found dead in stairway. Erotic game suspected." Hmmm.