My preparations for the Level Two evaluations have concluded and I am in a frenzy of research to locate another Mentor. My Level Two Mentor, the twit, failed me and left me to twist in the raging winds of society. I have forgiven him publicly, but in my private times I long to grind him to dust.

He refuses to aid me in my search and threatens to remove my skin. The fiend.

I will post again when I am able to access the Grid.  Until then, my clients will wait.

My posting has not been current. I have avoided posting here because of my recent run-in with the DeedMakers' TeachingTools Group. Humiliation would be a good word for what I felt but it isn't strong enough.

To prepare for my Level Ascension Boards, I signed up for the Easements TeachingTool and outfitted my Skin with the JING Project software. Not familiar with the power of the software, for capturing not only images but also audio,  I neglected to self-edit my postprandial emissions during a class, and uploaded one or two gas explosions.

These were shared with all of my mates and I was laughed at for hours.

I received no demerits, however.

Fortunately I was able to apologize using the same software, so I did. Combining the JING project with my DeedMakers' Skin is bliss, most other times. But after Brussels sprouts consumption the user needs to be monitored for unwanted sounds.

Yesterday, I met with the family who is contesting the Villa-Longues deed. We gathered at their table and, by candlelight (because they are GridFree), searched for references to pipes and easement of water passage. There was the sweet scent of roses in the room, but no women. I suspect it was my memory wishfully recalling her, from that night.   

She waited until the lights went out - or had her slimy compatriots act on the grid to douse the lights - and then she pulled me out of the room. To her credit she was very strong and I am a DeedMaker; we none of us is known for our athletic talents. She took my hand and I smelled roses on her neck, in the darkness. She told me she needed to me to help her and her family with a QuitClaimDeed.

I knew at that moment that she was psychotic. Why take me, when older and more experienced men surrounded her?

I escaped her and returned to my seat. Kidnapping of DeedMakers happens frequently enough that none of my colleagues offered succor.

What her true purpose was I do not know. But her scent lingered on me throughout the night.

This morning I was unable to quell my rhymes and included a haiku within the body of the my Villa-Longues Deed.

Roses on her neck
Entwined in the darkness with
my tender heartbeats. 

I hope this is not noticed or I will receive additional demerits and then a pay cut.

Today I return to my Level Two preparation work. It is done in the Old Way, for which I lack enthusiasm. In fact, I detest the Old Way. My skills in transcribing are not good and I type-write  poorly. In addition, I do not enjoy the proofreading aspects. However, all DeedMakers must learn to prepare Deeds with no power grid to support them. I am fortunate that I do not have to use a pen and ink, as my Father did.

All I can hope for is a lack of sufficient paper goods. Without paper I must stop.

My Level Two Counsellor, whom I have never met but whose record for success in Level Two preparation is stellar, has left me numerous messages about this aspect of my career and he is correct, of course. Tomorrow I meet him and I hope that I will glean from him some wisdom.

If not, I am surely doomed to repeat my wretched errors over and over again.

If THAT occurs, I will be cast out by my family. In the chain of generations, I must be a DeedMaker. Nothing else will do.

My Level One Counsellor will read this post entry, I know.

I can hear you reading it to yourself, you hoary windbag; outpuffs of fetid breath will flutter the pages of the printout. You will not use the screen because you are too mired in your own sick love of the past. Fine.

I have a bad sense of direction. I know that. And I know that my Father the DeedMaker and his Father the DeedMaker and all of my Fathers before me who were DeedMakers will deny that I am their son, because of it. My Mother could lose her way standing still. She never knew what direction to take. I inherited some of that and I am duly ashamed. But I've passed my Levels and am DOING MY JOB. So please stop annoying me.

I use my GPS and StarChecker. I have an electronic compass implant, which YOU DIDN'T PAY FOR!!

Go to the North, you old farts, and leave me and my genetic sadness alone.

What are your first thoughts upon waking?
Submitted by Cher Cabula.

My Mentor and his Assistant have noticed that I didn't posted yesterday. I thought that they might be too involved in the recent heat related Deeding problems (especially in regard to pipe failures and water rights)  but they are electronically monitoring me  and I cannot hide.

The Assistant, who is more callow than I and can be more aggravating than a toothache at Halloween, showed me his magnanimous side, by suggesting that if I truly have nothing to say ~~ which isn't the case; the case is that I have no talent for sharing my life and don't like to do it ~~ I should respond to the cleverly formed daily QUOTE prompts here.

So: Upon waking my first thoughts are (1) I must visit the bathroom and (2) I am happy to be able to walk there on my own. Some of my DeedMaker colleagues are ancient and without strength. They need assistance in all things. I am still young and know that I must be grateful for what I have, no matter how challenging my life becomes. 

Mentor Assistant Jerome: Please forgive my references to you. I am invoking literary license here. Of course you are neither callow nor aggravating. 

This morning I went to the Bainbridge County Library, which is located foursquare in Erwynna proper, adjacent to the High School grounds. I waited for the Chief Librarian to open the doors and found my way to the Group Meeting Room, where I drank the strong coffee and ate three stale peach pastries. My stipend doesn't include food, so I don't eat often.

The Group reviewed various Library procedures and incoming volumes. My input was requested and I commented that new volumes are being handled quickly. No one said anything. The Group is small and I'm the youngest. Our Librarian and the Chief Librarian are always present, which antagonizes my colleague DeedMakers. Animosity between us is legend.

After the meeting the Chief Librarian told me where to find the Freepipe Section, but that it wasn't currently in use and might be difficult to navigate. I smiled and reminded him that I was a DeedMaker and wouldn't get lost. He snarled that it wasn't  getting lost but falling down, that he was concerned about. The are holes in the floor.

I found the Freepipe Section and walked carefully among the books and scrolls. They are so OLD! I sneezed frequently. Mold? I imagine that to be the case. But I did look at some cases of Freepipe Easement-in-Common and found help for my tavern owner client.

Huzzah!  

Last night at the Local 88 DeedMakers' Meeting and Discussion Group I was brought up to the front of the room and reprimanded by my Mentor, DeedMaker Phipps, for not posting here each day. He was kind, at least, and made this reprimand unofficial. He told everyone that I was busy studying for my Level Two exams and was busy. But they all know that. They all are Level Two and above! I'm the lowest and the youngest and therefore have no recourse but to square my life rightly.

But posting every day?  I won't know what to say.
Words won't come. They'll see me as scum.

Yesterday I worked on a deed for a local tavern and ran into an opportunity to learn something not all DeedMakers do: Easements-in-common of the the Freepipe variety.  The tavern owner  was set upon by his neighbor for releasing wastewater and then I was called in. They all know that I am ill-prepared, so I know it was an arranged DeedMatch. For that I'm grateful. But sitting in the tavern in the darkness and sipping Samuel Adams and trying to work is not going to get me anywhere. I need to go to the Library of Deeds.

That will be my next post.

My Level One Counsellor gave me this assignment: to create and maintain a "blog" for however long it takes me, to reach Level Three. For those of you who don't know - and that's nearly everyone, I suspect --  DeedMakers work through Ten Levels. Not much is publicly known about us, but we're not secretive exactly, just close-mouthed. I'm a Level One and hope to be Level Two very soon. I'm an old Level One, though; most men my age are Level Eight or Seven. I got a late start. And my career choices have been odd. All reasons why my Counsellor told me to come here and share.

Well, that's my introduction.

I won't visit anyone here or comment, because I'm working too hard at my Level Two preparation to do much beyond brief entries. But you're welcome to read them.

Signed and sealed this First Day, Sixth Month, Two Thousand and Eight.

                                                                         Chapter One

                                          
The Bi-Monthly Bainbridge County Convergence of Deedmakers met in a small room with no windows, in order to prevent spying and intrusion. They always met in the same place, but Hazru the Deedmaker was new to the area and nearly missed the exit from Highway 86 onto Fourth Street. He was late when he entered the room, and worried for the stern admonishment he expected from his colleagues: geographic ignorance was unacceptable in Deedmakers. Deedmakers knew where streets and alleyways and boulevards were; and how easements and quitclaims and appurtenances worked. For a Deedmaker to lose his way? Unheard of.  Cause for alarm, and possibly for censure.

So Hazru, who was a Deedmaker Level One, the lowest and least knowledgeable and generally the youngest of Deedmakers, sat in the only empty chair - which happened to be located in the first row directly in front of the speaker. Hazru kept his eyes down and yearned for invisibility.

“You! Newcomer! Your name?”

 Hazru looked up into the powdery face. Maybe it wasn’t powder, maybe it was decades of deeds, all those white pages and sunless rooms. The man exhaled cool puffs of garlic that floated around Hazru’s head. “Hazru Dunne. Deedmaker One. From Southwest Leverington? I’m new. Sir.”

“Do you always rhyme? Do you rhyme your deeds, too?  What will you do, when you become a Two?” Laughter barrelled around the room and turned Hazru’s face pink.

“My middle name is Drew, Sir, and I live at 1212 Fortescue. I could rhyme, at Two. Sir.”

The man opened wide his arms, flapping his purple meeting robes around Hazru’s neck in a hug that sent unwelcome garlic to the back row. “Welcome, Hazru! You’re among friends here!”

Amid handshakes and backslaps and passing around of business cards, Hazru felt the warmth of collegial competence, the brotherhood of shared knowledge, and he began to savor joy.

Suddenly the two panels of harsh fluorescent ceiling lights buzzed and went out. The room darkened and fear gripped the men, one and all.