ANOTHER DAY

5 A.M.

"R-r-r-ring". Another rude awakening among thousands and the monotony begins. Forty-six years have gone by since the first and no apologies yet. If the times weren't so unsteady, maybe all of the racket would be worthwhile. There isn't even the automatic background music to soothe the rattling hammer. I gave up my electric clock-radio when they approved the entertainment tax for "non-essential" electrical goods. The official word was that this money was "---going into research and development of new energy resources and pollution control measures."

"Bull!" I thought in disgust, and grudgingly staggered to the shower, wishing that my wife would just once forget to wind that damn clock.

6 A.M.

The coffee steamed into the cup, giving off an aroma which, with its warmth, helped me forget the chill of my morning shower. I could never get used to the staccato shower heads before, and now it is worse. Some idiot-savant discovered the perfect solution for the shortage of clean water. It seems that this fellow invented a water pipe stutter valve, which, in some way, prevents a steady flow of water from building up through certain water lines. I think it reacts to the diameter of pipe, or something of that sort. Anyway, it sure screws up any chance of a nice warm shower.

The coffee was warm and dark when it coursed its way down my throat and eased the curtains of chill and sleep from my vision. The timer on the gas burner had turned the fire under the coffee pot off and I hurried to gulp down the last few drops remaining in my cup in order that I might grab another while it was still warm. A good hot cup of coffee is practically an impossibility since the skyrocketing price of butane fuel made the constant fire a luxury afforded only by the very wealthy or very privileged.

The coffee was turning cool and bitter when the radio news came dimly into the bleak grey of the dining room. I made a mental note to order more batteries from the catalogue which lay resting in its niche in the magazine rack. Ordering the little necessities from the Government Mail Order Company Catalogue, as established by the Central Printing Agency of the Environment and Energy Control Commission (E.E.C.C.), is much less expensive than time saving, and therefore, still worthwhile. Besides, the money paid for those goods from the book helps in the good ol' research and development of new energy sources and pollution control measures, etc., etc., etc.

7 A.M.

I sat behind the steering column of my new Petro-Lectric Commute Van and stared apprehensively at first the alternator, then the fuel gauge. No matter how efficient the E.E.C.C. claimed the solar panels are on these crate, I could not feel secure about my status of mobility after all of the stormy weather we had recently gone through. Also, I had used a good portion of my monthly allocation of gas stamps already and didn't want to go into any of the portion I had saved for our vacation.

Having satisfied myself that the fuel cells and tank were sufficiently stocked, I glanced up to the overhanging oxygen mask and checked the pressure gauges. It was a rather expensive luxury which recently had become a necessity of life, especially for people like myself who have to commute into the basin four days a week to work. The dramatic increase in air pollutants in the last few years reached its peak last summer; during a long dry spell over 500 people died from asphyxiation. If the pressures on our economy exerted by those oil moguls hadn't become so unbearable that the clean air standards imposed upon our refineries had to be released, the availability of a ready source of oxygen would not be so important. Three of my fellow workers and close friends left widows and children behind to testify to the seriousness of the situation.

1 P.M.

Thankfully, the weather was still a little blustery and the day at work went smoothly and was not interrupted by an actual air pollution alert. Of course there was the usual practice drill to which everyone responded with the efficient seriousness bred from the actual experience.

The traffic both to and from work was light and relaxing. Even the steady hum of the many electric commute buses, which make the trips seem like driving in the middle of swarms of bees, seemed to be lighter in density than usual.

10 P.M.

The picture seemed to fall into a pit of blackness until only a dot of light could be seen, then there was nothing. We sat, staring at the blank face, remembering the days when the screen would only turn to grey in the early morning hours when the station management decided, finally, to rest its transmitters, or earlier, whenever weary eyelids would drop to rest our own tired receivers. Now it is different. No programming lasts longer than 10:00 in the evening. The only exceptions are those special cable channels provided for the benefit of the night worker. Batteries for televisions are cheap and long lived, but not so cheap that all night viewing is practical.

The day was over the hill and another was coming up the road. Preparing for bed, I thought again of the days past, with joy and regret. The joy stemmed from the picnics by the lakes (now fenced off for the general public safety due to extreme mercury and toxin chemical content), long drives out into the country and to the beaches ( now impossible because of energy consumption regulations, and limitations set on the number of vehicles allowed in the few protected areas of clean wilderness and beach), and the quiet evenings sitting near the fireplace, watching the small flames do their eternal dance of ecstasy over, under and through the laughing crackling logs ( no more fireplaces; wood has become a too valuable resource for home consumption to be permitted, and to use gas flames is unthinkable).

Regret lay across my soul like a lead blanket. Not so much for myself, though I certainly was as unwilling to see the dangers as anyone else, but for all of my generation and the generations before it and following. We danced upon the treadmill of technology without concern for our destination, only with concern for the convenience of mobility. In order to see the green world we proudly inherited, we filled our tanks to overflowing, failing to see that the overflow was turning our pride a dead brown.

With a trembling sigh, I placed my glasses on the night stand and, checking the Little Ben to make sure it was set, turned off the light. After kissing my wife good night, I turned on my side, and, feeling a tear brush my soul, closed my eyes to dream and wish ...