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i won’t reveal their codewords—but something had changed, this morning, when I was writing my various poems; the men i was using to sound out the consonants—my smoker friend, my stomach cancer uncle, and my scotch uncle all started doing the vowels, and Ursula started doing the consonants. That meant I concentrated a little more on what the men were doing—but it opened a channel that Ursula could use to interject or bond with. That’s because the consonants are stops—they let your partner in, so, I suppose, the men were coming in on the consonants, but because Ursula was doing the consonants, she was also coming in—and I was going out. When I had her pronouncing a consonant, I was sending stuff to her—and when she pronounced a consonant, if she was taking my calls, she was sending stuff to me. She just didn’t realize she was doing it.
I was also using Ursula, when she was pronouncing consonants, to filter what I received from the men in my life; i was letting them know what i was interested in—and the direction that the future was going in—something they could apply to their work which would’ve been valuable to them—inspiration, so to speak. what are you thinking, now? “I am thinking of a pink elephant.” Now, you might be thinking, what’s wrong with advanced English? “Nothing I said—nothing is wrong with advanced English—unless you want to increase your chances of finding a mate.” That was what this all boiled down to, right? Hurting yourself, and all that? “So maybe I didn’t go about it the right way – I was reacting when I should have been looking to the future and how a successful career would lead to mate-worthy material, looks included.” But I was under so much pressure because my government had no place for people like me. (People that couldn’t work—or even people that would live on less if they didn’t have to work – i’m saying that once we finally abandon capitalism and redistribute the wealth in this country—people won’t be forced to work—they’ll do it because they’re bored not doing it—and for the extra money; but they will be provided for if they choose not to).
Now i was trying something I hadn’t tried yet: a four count frequency and amplitude modulation chant in Ursula’s voice—before that I was using my voice. I couldn’t keep it up, no pun intended, but maybe, in time, that would change. I was learning a lot in a relatively short amount of time and my abilities were increasing, too. I wanted to increase my abilities forever—going all the way to infinitesimal change that made a difference when you considered the impact of a few well-placed details. The detail, done right, is where the magic is—everything that lives around it is important, too, but the detail is what makes it thrive. You don’t need detail everywhere—just in a few places.
i have insomnia “no, don’t tell me that!” I kind of didn’t want to date someone with a mental illness: if someone is born gifted, that’s great; but i don’t want people to have insomnia and thinking problems – i don’t want them killing themselves with alcohol to make it to sleep at night. That never works out—and you suffer, terribly. “is this a temporary thing or a common occurrence?” off and on; one night i’m fine, the next night i’m not—and i find myself subject to intrusive thoughts; now, i know, what’s wrong? If not her relationship with her boyfriend. Is she depressed? Is she already depressed—does she take medicine? I never considered that. Well, if she was taking her medicine we could make it work—but I wasn’t going to try and make something work with someone that didn’t take their medication.
That would lead to miserable children—the illness would affect them, even if they weren’t born with it. But her eyes don’t ever look glazed over; she’s free to lead a life that allows her to travel and campaign without a problem. If she had a mental illness, even if she was, and remained in, recovery, she might not have been able to do that. She was telling me that she was taking an antidepressant. But I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t trust the message, for some reason. It was hard for me to imagine, give her success, and her personality—and her clear-mindedness, that she had a mental illness. No, I’m telling you, i really do. If that was true—how in the heck did she manage to live her life basically in one and only one relationship? People with mental illnesses aren’t good at relationships. i started taking medication a long time ago.
my telepathic communications were on trial here. If she wasn’t taking an antidepressant, then what did this mean? Why was her voice saying that she did? Maybe it was saying that because she wanted me to love her even if she did have a mental illness—because she was defending people with a mental illness, and she couldn’t be happy unless she was accepted as one of them—even if she was totally fine. She was insisting that she took medicine for depression, however, and i don’t think she was going to stop insisting that until I believed it—no matter how tentative that belief must be. But i began to think—she wouldn’t keep telling me this unless it was true, and, beyond a certain threshold of hearing her tell me this, a threshold that had now been surpassed, i could say, with some degree of certainty, that Ursula took medication for depression—and she’d been taking it for years. since before I got back together with my fiancé. Ok—fine. We’ll have to watch the offspring—if, that is, there are any. (I wasn’t ruling out a life with Ursula with no heir, no daughter named Gwen, but, honestly, if Ursula really loved me—we’d get pregnant once—unless, that is, we never met until it was too late—but it was also possible that, by then, my interest in a child would lead me to a woman behind Ursula, a woman that remained young enough to get pregnant, and old enough to accept both a complicated sexuality and a complicated mind.