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the last I heard Jack Daniels was going to tax the American people in order to reimburse the oil companies that were going to be getting much richer selling Venezuelan oil. this wasn’t funny—Jack Daniels was the embodiment of evil; i had no doubt that, given the opportunity, he’d build gas chambers for the opposition. but i didn’t want Ursula preaching to the choir—that being me. And I didn’t want to preach to her. i see a big truck that’s lost it’s brakes going down a mountain road, and veering off to the side, to a truck ramp, that was built specifically because big trucks going downhill and constantly pressing their brakes can sometimes lose control—the brakes quit working.
that was our country—we were going to be fine, but we were going to be left with a big mess; i profess, however, that we were only going to be fine if we did something about this; if we assumed that we didn’t need to contribute, then, no, we weren’t going to be fine. people like Jack Daniels because he gets things done—the only problem is that everything he does is toxic and expensive. God forbid the wealthy step in and pay for Jack’s antics—no, of course they won’t pay—instead the average American taxpayer will pay, until, lo and behold, we can’t afford for our kid to have more than one doll. but here I am, preaching to the choir—i guess Ursula and I would be having political discussions, but, for my part, i would approach them very carefully.
Ursula was telling me she voted for Bernie Sanders—i don’t know if she already told me that; but, anyhow, as she might not have known, I knew that because she said so on TV. I wanted to change the subject, so I tried substituting (temporarily) my scotch uncle’s voice for Ursula’s voice, and it seemed like, in doing that, i was still communicating with Ursula, as if I were sending her an email. I don’t know what the email was about—but, based on this world that i’ve created, it was some mathematician that i talked to every now and then when I was working on my physics paper. i don’t know what knowledge or information I stored with him—or what he stored with me, but I sensed that Ursula would be interested, so, well, now i await her response, and, based on her response, i should gain some insight into the mathematician person, that, i believe, sometimes doubled up as Shakespeare when he’d been drinking—(if Shakespeare drank, which, i think you might imagine that he did, at least, but we really have no evidence that he was a heavy drinker, or even a drinker at all).
Ursula might’ve mentioned something about prime numbers and natural logarithms—which would seem to indicate that this scotch drinking and often bloated looking uncle represented me as doing something with the field—which i found hard to imagine, at least purely for it’s own sake. But if it could relate to being and nothingness, i was interested, of course. I just didn’t know if I was ready to try and bite off something like that—i might have to spend hours asking questions and trying to understand what, for me, would be very likely difficult to understand, much less write about—at least in a way that would solve anything about the behavior of math and being and nothingness. i love that guy! “That’s nice to hear.” So if she loved that guy, and that guy was something that I was becoming, then yes, she was going in a direction that we both wanted to go in, which meant, at least for me, that a sexual relationship was much more likely, if not, inevitable.
i could think of nothing, now, at this point, but calories. Because my uncle was overweight—weight that probably represented how much work I was going to have to do to be a successful mathematician—I assumed that I was trying to calculate how much I would have to do every day over a period of time to become this “new” person that I am meant to be—this person that, left unattended, might be making me impotent. I estimated I was eating about 700 calories for breakfast—which meant I could only take in 800 more calories if I wanted to lose a pound over a week’s time. That sounded incredibly difficult, to be honest, even though i was eating nothing but fruit for lunch. So maybe this math problem was going to be very difficult to solve—I don’t believe, however, that I would be informed of the problem unless I might have something to do with the solution—Ursula, after all, is a function of the future as much as she is a function of this real living Ursula that I was in love with.
Then it occurred to me that Ursula was telling me, in this roundabout way, (which is how telepathic images are often employed—to lead us to something that feels right after weighing the possibilities of what something could mean), that my impotence, for her, was a problem she felt called to tackle—which is good, that’s exactly how I wanted the situation to be seen—as something that required wholistic communication and understanding. But I think she was also saying that the problem, indeed, was a problem, one that she might have a hard time understanding for an indefinite amount of time—the time, i think, that it would take my unlce to lose, for example, 20 pounds. But perhaps the problem was not so bad—she might’ve been comparing the situation to the amount of time it would take me to lose five pounds and keep it off—which sounded very difficult, but was definitely something that was possible. So I acknowledged Ursula, told her that I understood, and, in a relatively serious moment, we were both pleased. Progress, therefore, had been made.