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All this time i thought i was doing something that would help get AOC elected president, but i got hit with a reality check when it occurred to me that my thoughts on telepathic communications combined with my obsession with a person I never met could lead AOC and others to believe that I was experiencing a super long psychosis or something. I suddenly feared that she would be enraged that I was trying to woo her when she, for all i knew, was completely satisfied and in love with her boyfriend. Add that to the comments about weight gain—and me taking it personally—and I realized that AOC might not only be offended, but she might take legal action which, although she was a public figure and i didn’t see any malice in my writing, others might see things differently, and I could be totally screwed. So i’ve decided, from here on out, to be extra careful about saying anything that might be interpreted as malicious—although this book was and is about telepathic communications (i stand by that) and, technically (in reality, whatever that is) AOC was just my subject.
Everything I think about what AOC thinks could be the complete opposite of what i think—and i had to admit, it was a little depressing to think that telepathic communications could be a total failure even if I’d put all this time and energy into it—not just in this book, but for years. But life goes on, and I wasn’t going to let myself be fooled into thinking that I hadn’t done something impressive and worth looking into—even if telepathic communications are absurd. Of course they’re absurd—i’m of the opinion that i’m way ahead of the game—that I’m a telepathic communications pioneer, and i realize that such a thought could be considered symptomatic of something, but, honestly, i was well aware that: a) women weren’t as attracted to me as i might’ve thought (for years, now) and, b) women weren’t attracted to men that lived with their parents, and, finally c) women weren’t interested in people that described themselves as disabled and queer. They wanted someone that was straight and healthy across the board and didn’t require any medication to stay that way and or make them happy in the bedroom.
Back to it, then: what was AOC thinking right now? did i dare to make an educated guess and or assume that she was speaking to me from some future realm? AOC was angry right now, but not at me; even if we were having telepathic communications, she couldn’t possibly know that I—this totally unknown entity—was tapping into her consciousness. She might’ve thought, for example, “Why am i thinking this?” Or she might’ve thought, “why did I say that?” But she wouldn’t have been thinking: “There goes my stalker putting intrusive thoughts into my head,” unless, that is, she knew that she was having telepathic communications and or she thought of this entity as a stalker.
Most definitely not a romantic. But that’s what writing is like: you think, while you’re writing, that your shaping the world around you with each keystroke—you feel so focused and important—when, in reality, nobody knows what you’re doing and, even if they did, the odds that they would be affected are very slim. Extraordinarily slim. Even if they somehow got a hold of your book and decided to read it, it wasn’t very likely that they would be moved—as you, while writing, to keep things up and going, might’ve believed. The important thing is to believe in yourself, sure, but you also need to keep in mind how absolutely tiny you are—and, as many people will think: entirely self-absorbed and or eccentric, if not mentally ill.
I note, here, that eccentricity is only acceptable amongst people that have earned the right not to care by having done or achieved something that wins them respect. Eccentricity amongst wanna-be writers (the modicum that cannot both write their heart out and make a living while doing it) is viewed, in general, as narcissism. And maybe, for a lot of people, it is. And maybe that person is me, right? But I get that, and I choose to continue—wise enough to be as nice and respectful to others (and what they do) as i can.
So i was a little setback—a little intimidated, i guess, by the power that AOC wields, and the idea that i shouldn’t be pursuing these telepathic communications as if this were anything more than satire—or even a lampoon! But not, dreadfully, a groundbreaking book about the evolution of human beings.
Yeah, so, anyhow, as i imagine things to be, AOC was not as angry at me as she might’ve been; she, in fact, didn’t have time to consider a fool for love, but she did, in fact, enjoy fighting for my rights. She even seemed to think that, yes, what you are doing is interesting, although I don’t know if I’ll find the time to read it—i’m too busy doing my job, and there are other things i want to read, etc. That was fine: that was to be expected. But she genuinely believed in the impetus she felt, of late, as people began to consider her a viable candidate for the presidency. Therefore, because her thoughts weren’t making it impossible for her to do her job, and to do it well, i believe that she enjoys—or, to keep this subjunctive—would enjoy interesting, as opposed to threatening or debilitating, thoughts.