It starts out as any normal day. You’re sitting at your workbench, assembling parts like you do every day of the week. Just like last time. Just like the last 1000 times. Your workmate to your left has his mini radio going, talking about what the President has been up to lately. Maybe it won’t happen today. But you know that’s hopeless. You pick up the wireless screwgun and start turning screws for the pieces in your hand watching to make sure they aren’t too tight, but you’ve got the clutch setting low enough that tightening the screws too much should be impossible.
Really neat, that clutch setting. You first learned about it on a TV show for handymen a few years back. Your mind was totally blown when you learned that any cordless drill or screwgun can do this. It sure would be nice to work on a construction project with your father again. He always found a way to make it fun. You’ve learned so much from him. He helped you get this job too, and it’s pretty simple work, too. All you have to do is turn a few screws… like you’re not doing right now.
There it is. The screwgun in your hand has stopped moving. You’re not moving. You can see on your watch that you haven’t moved for five whole minutes. Your boss must be wondering what you’re doing. ‘Come on, move.’ You internally scream at your arm to squeeze the trigger on the screwgun and continue working. ‘Come on, do something!’ But your arm just lazily drones back a single syllable, and continues it’s lethargic immobility.
Now the edges of your vision start closing in. The edges are usually blurry but now even what you’re staring at becomes fuzzy. You can’t hear the radio that your workmate usually has playing at the desk next to you. You start screaming internally. ‘Just move!’ you try to move your eyes from side to side. It’s the most effortless thing you know how to do, but now they’re not responding either. The song that played the last time you were on a roof with your father starts playing really loudly in your head, you can see yourself hammering shingles, your buddy talking about that car he’s working on. You’re looking forward to helping him. But you can’t this weekend because you have work.
Finally, your eyes slide sideways, and you start darting them all around. Some modicum of control, then your head follows, and you shake your head quickly to try to clear it. Your vision becomes clear again. The sound of the radio returns. They’re insulting the PrePost too long. Click here to view the full text.