Life Vignette Intro
A while back, I was in desperate need of getting my life back on track, simplifying and cleaning out the unnecessary remaining cobwebs of the mind that still existed from a shitty lengthy divorce. I did not have a clue about the future direction: take the path less traveled or the conformist path cluttered with the billboards of mankind. Is it worth getting up in the morning to fight society or sleeping in and letting the world win? I was a complete and utter mess, badly needing some focus and direction if I was ever to exit the cave I had crawled into.
The ex-wife had taken me to the cleaners financially and emotionally, and there wasn’t much of a man left, just a skeletal shell of a person trying to survive the challenges day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute, and well, you get the idea. I was the most jaded fucked up version of myself ever. So many unanswered questions of existence, forgetting the meaning of life; I was just hoping to get through the fucking day.
I slowly tried to pull myself up by the bootstraps, dust my sorry ass off and get busy living or die trying. I needed a disaster recovery plan like the project I was working on in the office, which was altered for my personal existence. Step one of my strategy was to read some motivational and self-help books. I figured I was too gun-shy to seek professional therapy, so self-preservation was the logical first step. But where to start, fuck it, I’ll try the library.
Ms. Peacock in the Library with the Candlestick
When I arrived at the library, I realized it had been numerous years since I last walked the Wal-Mart warehouse stacked aisles of literature and writings. Secondly, my library card from 15 years ago was most likely no longer valid. After proving my identity with three forms of ID and convincing the Mrs. Gradenko-like character behind the counter of my general honest intentions … and abilities to responsibly return materials within 14 days … I was issued a shiny new library card … yippee!
So, with my new laminated card, I started wandering row after row of shelves, breathing that pungent library aroma of musty old paper mixed with gallons of binding glue that makes for the ambiance of any library. I never really grasped the Dewey Decimal System they’ve got going on there for classifying books; I am pretty much wandering on my own.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a beautiful angel appeared before me as if to guide me on my way. She inquires, “Can I help you?”… as I stumble through the index cards of my brain trying to piece together a structured answer … I can’t help but thoroughly give the vixen the once over. Perhaps gazing as I gasped for words, examining every morsel of tastiness from the top down: long jet-black hair tightly tied back in a ponytail with a white ribbon, petite heart-shaped face accented with narrow wire-rimmed Fendi glasses bringing out beautiful hazel eyes.
“Yes,” I reply, “I’m trying to find the motivational and self-help section.” She humorously giggles her response, “Aren’t we all … but heck, follow me, I’ll show you what we’ve got”. As she pivots towards the intended destination, I’m in awe of her puffy blouse, which seems to conceal something tucked into her silted skirt, which reaches just above the knee. Plain black Mary Jane-style shoes with large pilgrim-like buckles, and upon second glance in disbelief, she is wearing fishnet stockings. Damn, I gotta visit libraries more often.
As we arrive at the shelves of books dedicated to my topic of choice, she says, “Well, here we are, 12 shelves to choose from; good luck. My name is Daphne, Daphne Peacock; feel free to call me if you have any other questions”. I reply in return, “Thank you, Daphne, thank you very much,” and off she goes.
Here I am, I thought, what the fuck now, there are like a million books on the topic. So I bunker down with a comfortable stool, flipping through shelf after shelf and thumbing through some books, just getting frustrated. After another couple of hours of my life, I will never get back. I started to second-guess my whole self-improvement plan. I was getting very discouraged.
Suddenly, my library angel, Daphne, reappeared. “Find anything that inspires you,” she says. “Not really … nothing but more dead ends and disappointment,” I reply. She quips, “We have another section of the library which may give you the motivation you are looking for”… “it’s in the other wing, which is closed for repair right now, but if you trust me to take you there, I think it may have what you’re looking for”… “interested?” I gloomily answer, “Sure, what the hell, there is nothing here of interest. I trust your judgment”.
Lightheartedly, she states, “Ok, let’s go then … follow me”… without hesitation, I tag along like a lemming to the icy arctic cliffs … thinking it’s odd that a whole wing of research materials is closed off during renovations. “Hold my hand,” she says, “the scaffolding is a bit uneven,” as she firmly grips my hand through the dimly lit corridor. Up ahead, a door starts to become visible, and it looks like an 18th-century door from a castle adorned with tarnished brass hinges and fixtures.
As we pass through the door, it’s tough to make out the shapes in the shadows, and then suddenly, my little vixen angel librarian goes from a tight grip to twisting my arm into the spine of my back, almost like a move from WWE wrestling divas. Within seconds, I heard what sounded like iron metal. Yes, it was. In one quick motion, I held my hand to the back of my spine and into a chain shackle. Before I could catch my breath and bearings, I was being hoisted by shackles and some chains via pulleys into a metal cage a few feet from the ground; suddenly, I heard a metal door slam shut on the contraption, holy shit I was a caged animal. I still can’t quite see through the dimly lit room and have no fucking idea what’s going on; this doesn’t seem to be how I remember the library.
A few moments pass, although they seem eternal. The room begins to brighten from the candles being illuminated around the room’s circumference. I see my angel, Daphne, although now she’s dressed a little more devilish. A leather corset must have been the bulge in the blouse and thigh-high black leather boots, and the white ribbon has been removed from her hair, allowing it to flow freely. More interestingly is the décor of the room, then it hits me, holy shit, this is Daphne’s dungeon.
As she approaches the metal cage, she exclaims, “I’m going to make you forget all about that bitch … and all other bitches from your past … now you’re going to be my bitch!”… “But first, you’ll have to watch my self-help therapy.” As these simple directives sink into my brain’s central processing unit, I start to look around the room and notice all the contraptions of Daphne’s dungeon of delight. I recognize some of them and begin to get a little excited about them; other contraptions either scare me or confuse me as I am not quite sure what they are or are used for.