I tried plugging into the other, lower set of holes on that outlet. I bent down and plugged it into the usual place. Then I remembered that I had unplugged the computer in the middle of the night. I flipped each back to the OFF position, then once more to ON. They should have instantly whirred to life. I flipped the computer’s ON switch, and the monitor’s.
Because the only way I could finish this project was in hiding, and there was no way to know how long I could stay hidden. Every home I lived in was a iiīorrowed home, a place to fire up that computer and make yet a little more progress on the book by day, a bed for my weary body at night. Time now was so precious, every day borrowed against my unknown quantity of remaining days. I jumped out of bed, dressed, and sat before my computer. As was my habit, I awoke early the next morning. Then I felt my way back to bed and gratefully plunged down again, back under the warm covers, back into deep sleep.
My fingers found it, yanked it out of the socket. It was the main connector from whose source of power all my other significant computer connections branched off (printer, monitor, and the mechanical brain itself). Kneeling down, I groped under the desk for the thick cable that plugged into the upper wall socket. I obeyed the thought anyway, fumbled my way out of bed in the darkness, walked across the few feet from bed to desk.
I was not in the habit of unplugging my computer except when I moved (which was frequently). There were no sounds of electrical storm outside, and I had a surge protector. A thought was nudging me: “Unplug the computer.” NE NIGHT IN 1995, about two o’clock, I woke from deep sleep. SECRET, DON’T TELL THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF HYPNOTISM
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