and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

For months now, the elevators have hated me with a certain algorithmic disdain that would be chilling coming from a human, but from a cold, hard machine.. Well, it's belittling, really.

Each day when I would walk up to the bank of lifts, two on one side of the large foyer and three on the other, they would be uninvitingly shut. If there was a single one open it would, of course, be the service elevator whose entire life, revolving around a single key hanging from the janitor's belt, was meant for shuffling vacuums and floor-buffing machines to and fro and certainly not me, a lowly human. Of the remaining four, always: little numbers in digital-red above each set of doors silently announcing annoyingly far-off floors such as "4" and "6". Undoubtably, two elevators would be engaged in some electronic tete-a-tete far above, sitting at the same height for no apparent reason. Another would be routing about in the basement. The single one embarked in actual movement, rising to the seventh, would surely be the single one to finally come to rest at the main floor, the first floor, the only one to arrive in a number of minutes. And still the two scheming lifts above staunchly remain: unmoved.

Thus, it is with great surprise that, in this week of late August, I find the spirit of these beasts has spun about, a mechanical mood-swing as it were like a lake turning over or a violent storm suddenly changing the season. Today, in this iota (for I won't call it anything more, the fickle hearts of machines can flip in a flash, a blink of a second) they serve me with the comfortingly regular rythmics of a grandfather clock, as if they knew my rhyme and metre, the very schedule of each and every entry and departure. Through some sort of delegation one has been assigned directly to me and each and every time I step into the building, as I round the corner to the bank of elevators, it's doors (as if it was waiting for me) yawn open like an inviting set of arms. Into the womb I step and ascend with ease by the push of a button. Here, within this enclave, are the amenities of kings. I can effortlessly command motion, call in minions (or a pizza) with the miracle of the telephone. It's as simple as speaking a command and, open-seaseme, my kingdom is presented to me for my viewing pleasure. But ahh, here comes that tedious aide rushing for the doors and - *snap* - the doors slam shut; ruling over such a large dominion is hard and I need my privacy.