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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Part XXI: scenario-ized for your protection
dearest, well, it turns out that writing you a long, long, relatively uninteresting letter each and every day is as good a time waster as television ever was. in other words, feel free to delete these things at will if you haven't the time to devote to reading the latest angst. you know, i just realized something: in the search for forces that act at a distance, i really think that physicists missed the boat on the whole field of emotions. i mean, angst? there's one. love? there's another. and to assume that these things are unquantifiable? well, i'm just waiting for a scale that is the emotional approximation of the kelvin scale for temperature. i want to bring the angst down to absolute zero, baby. but maybe i just need to up the meds. um. okay. so much for starting strong. these are the kind of thoughts that i use to distract my brain from its intensive work on the dreaded neo(well, that's a record--nearly one hundred and sixty five words before i mentioned him) situation scenario project. yes, there has been much scenarizing for my own protection. (scenario-izing? scenariorizing?) brain won't shut up no matter how i glut it with glucose. in fact, it turns out that perhaps glutting it with glucose just spurs it on to more and more insane flights of fancy. more after chemistry, yeah?
at least one day later: the latest on the milton conference? looks like i'll be going by myself, as mel and now the other woman, nico, are claiming crap job responsibilities are going to keep them from going. so, if you do the math: mel + sublingua + nico + neo - mel - nic = sublingua. because there ain't no way i'm willingly traveling to a conference with neo despite all that "turn the other cheek" handwaving i did the other day. god, what was i thinking? i mean, of course i'm still going to be the woman on the news saying "but he seemed like such a nice guy" when they're filming the body bags coming out of the basement of his parent's house, so i'm sure it'd be fine in terms of my physical (well)being to travel to tennessee with him. and i have, as a reason for thinking this, the examples in which mayflower travelled to the galapagos with bh and to australia with roger--in which no one ended up dead or otherwise physically harmed. i mean, if mayflower can do it, i can too. however, since we're doing the math, we have to figure in the tiny little fact of mayflower's seeming capacity for absorbing this random kind of psychological abuse as being sort of infinite. whereas me? not so much anymore. i mean, yeah, i can take an occasional unexpected or unexpectedly large hit for the team, but that kind of constant, low level din of...whatever...well, that's the kind of thing that's designed to make me go all daffy duck on people's asses and maybe jump around and go "wahoo-wahoo" or something. also, the whole coordinating thing? turns out it doesn't work so well when the coordinatee's home planet rules differ from the coordinator's home planet rules. plus, i'm sick of doing it. later: so i'm down here at the other location doing laundry. i'm so unused to being here anymore, and yet, sometimes i really miss being here. in fact, i had a bit of a bad moment this morning when i was sitting in the kitchen of my apartment finishing my physics homework and suddenly thought, i'm lonely. i don't want to do this anymore. my sad little attempts at independence and bravery have made me worse off and i'm tired. and, yes, i realize it's been all of six sad little weeks since i moved out, and that i see max practically everyday and talk to you about as often, and see x at least twice a week, and mayflower as often, and so on and so on, but--but i guess what i need to do is stay mindful (not easy when brain is using up all available glucose to enact ever more elaborate scenarios) of what i want and what i'm doing and why i want it and why i'm doing it (?). and i also realize how fortunate i am that i don't have to worry about finances--at this point anyway--because things would be a lot worse if i had to throw a crappy (or even fine) job into the mix. but i'm tired of thinking. i'm tired of that endless chatter in my head that's there when i fall asleep and when i wake up to that reminds me of how worthless i am and reminds me that my ingratitude is only a symptom of a larger wrong that defines who i am and reminds me that i truly don't deserve anything i have. (and it's a bad moment now too, i guess, because it all sounds right: plausible and pathetic). and what i really want to know is: why doesn't robin just love me back so that we can run away together and live happily ever after on our own island? god damn him, sophistica. all i do is love. and how is all my love repaid? with a few measly kitten pictures taped to 3x5 cards and placed, anonymously, in my backpack while i'm not looking. i mean, how am i supposed to interpret any of that? does he love me? does he just want me to know that he's human and therefore worthy of love? (and, okay, so let's joke about all of this, veneer it with humor and work through all of that. the sound of laughter is so more pleasant than the sound of angst anyway.) the hills are alive with the sound of pathetic, self-serving angst. sounds like tanoan on a tuesday night maybe? and has x ever told you that his daddy calls tanoan the "white boy's prison"? i knew i loved the x-daddy from the moment x told me that, considering that x-daddy has enough money to buy his own expensive cage but doesn't, having recognized, despite its price, that it's just that: a cage. i don't care if x never had a sibling or a pet or a loving family environment. i think his daddy fine. also? i wonder if x-daddy has the x owner's manual. maybe he got it when the x was all brand spanking new, and, like i do with all my owner's manuals, put it away in the junk drawer to be referenced circa never. that, or the x-momma shredded it to use as packing material when she sent the rabbit off to the x-grandparents. how is it that x has turned out so well as he has i guess is the question that needs to be answered in light of the recent x-reveal-ations about his early childhood. i really love the x. i love that he is the unknown in any equation. also? thank you for directing him to take me to lunch. i really liked that he followed your direction as well as he did, substituting ice cream for lunch was wonderfully acceptable, and i had too good a time listening to him think of ever more insane scenarios designed to embarrass the erin at the wedding. (my favorite? the bicycle helmet scenario, with a possible close second being the faking of tourette's when meeting the nice grandma. it's sick but funny, sadly. and he did worry about the ethical implications of doing it, so we should love him even more). and, abruptly-- sublingua so what about tennessee? what about houston? what about detroit? what about pittsburg, pa? you ought to know not to stand by the window. somebody'll see you up there. i need some sensible advise a.s.a.p. and, yes, i realize how unfair it is for me to constantly rely on you for such, given that my insights on any given situation--including the bryan x-girlfiend dilemma--runs to the very general: gee...hmmm...sounds f'ed up to me. poor bryan. that boy.
More lies:
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