Orndorff, for the record, where do you think I was? – Amorella.
In my spine. The same place all the human proper names go when I can’t remember someone’s name. I see the person at a social event or grocery or wherever and the name sinks away, drains, and the only place it can drain to is down the spine. That’s how it appears to me, that is how I sense it happening in my head. The name becomes detached from memory until it re-attaches. This response is honest enough that I don’t require any added response from you as to where you were. You never left. I didn’t know where you were because yesterday, for one reason or another, I didn’t have the facilities to find you. Misplacement or misfiring of synapses for psychological reasons. A self-testing, just as I stated yesterday. I don’t know why and really don’t care. I read some and then we spent the day running errands. We returned in time to watch Human Target as it was being copied and then went to bed. I didn’t spend the time bemoaning the fact that you weren’t here for me for writing purposes. But, to end this, I am happy you returned. On the keyboard I feel very much more comfortable with you here.
Do you think I am here for your comfort, boy?
No [Ma’am]. No disrespect intended.
Why all the bullshit then?
I don’t know. I have to present a reasonable façade for myself. It is not BS. What I said is my reasonable explanation. On the other side of the equation I admit I have no idea where you were. You could have been behind closed [mental] doors or Elsewhere. That’s both sides of the mirror, Amorella.
Just keeping you completely honest, boy. That’s my avocation. Post. – Amorella.
Moving on twenty-hundred hours. You are confused because you think I am going to talk about how this charade of yours is quickly coming to an end.
It entered my mind. I had this feeling when I wrote “Moving on,” a dread like when any woman you love says, “We have to talk.”
I didn’t know that I felt this ‘circumstance’ is a charade. I worry sometimes that I am fooling myself, that all this is a strange form of self-deception for reasons that are not apparent. Every time I use the word “honest” and “authenticity” I feel like the host who continually hears from his guest that “Your fine silverware is almost worth stealing.” A joke at first, but as long as the guest is present in the house you take on the task of counting the silverware at the end of each day.
Narrowed down it is my lack of vocabulary. I am sorry can be overused, as can the words, I love you. Deep down I have a strong distrust of myself, of my reasoning and motivations. What is in my mind is this, you are going to say, “Good try, boy, but the gig is up. You are not the writer you think you are or might be.”
Some people can completely trust themselves, or at least they seem to. I am not one of those. Governments have self correction built into them, or attempt to. Ours – the Congress, Presidency and Supreme Court provide checks and balances. I do not have such division built in.
Think of the rule that at an intersection the first driver on the right has the right to proceed first when each of the four roads has a car waiting. When this is unknown some drivers raise their hands from the wheel telling another driver to ‘go ahead’. Sometimes the flash of headlights is used to inform the other drivers of the intensions of an another.
For you, as I see it, the motivation, the irrationality, is caused by your good fortune today. Everyone bought their tickets. The vacation for four friends is on. You feel so fortunate to have had such a good life so far, and the good life appears to be continuing. One of your thoughts while making the airline flights was to change a fly date from the thirteenth of the month to the fourteenth of the month. You hate to admit you succumbed to superstition but you did because somehow a plane crash with you on it would be lesson to you on seeming “good luck.” A continual dark thread in your mind is thinking on JFK at his Inaugural unknowing that his life would be drastically shortened by winning the election from Nixon. It goes back to old friend, Steve’s: “Cheer up, things are bound to get worse.”
You have a built in check, orndorff, in those words. So, after you switched the airline date, it hit your mind that the irony would be that the plane crashes on the fourteenth, not the thirteenth. Or, the plane doesn’t crash at all. Instead, you are hit by a car on the way to the airport. Always something, boy. No end to it. It is no wonder you have so many words in you. Endless possibilities to thread the dark humor through. That’s my take on this.
I wasn’t going to have a ‘talk’ with you at all. I write the stories between your fiddling doubts and attempt to show you good sense. Relax and enjoy your present sense of good fortune. Lots of people do, or should from my perspective, for their own mental health. Tomorrow let’s take a look at this conversation between Sophia and Kassandra. What do you think they have talked about today while you were so enthusiastic about a few weeks off, from what? Retirement? It’s a upcoming holiday, orndorff, not a vacation, isn’t that what you say? Post. – Amorella.
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