Several days had passed since i’d checked in—i’d done some short poems and some six stanza rhyming poems, and posted them on social media, which is probably as close as I was ever really going to get to being read—barring some dramatic stroke of luck, which i’d given up counting on. But that was nice in and of itself—i didn’t get a lot of attention, but the attention i did get could be very positive—which made me think that, if i did get published to a wider audience, then I would have an audience, if they could find me. You’re here for me, now. Watching Anna on social media—thinking, well, she’s actually a normal person, she won’t be attractive to me in several years, after she gets a little older, after what, for most people, means the inevitable addition of what would otherwise be deemed too much weight. That she’d already lost some of her appeal, and i had to wonder: did that have anything to do with the fact that I wasn’t relying on her voice as much? I thought it was a good thing to use her voice, still; it was a part of my telepathic process, but when the writing took a back seat, so did my telepathic process.
Don’t be a backseat driver. “I’m not a backseat driver—i want the same things you want.” I think that was Anna talking—it didn’t sound so much like my Ursula. My DNA is fine. Anna again, i think, but I don’t know—it could have been both of them, all of them, whatever, i guess. And i didn’t say that Anna’s DNA wasn’t fine—i just said that she wasn’t the dreamboat i once believed in. Now, it was no small realization, to me, for me, that the only woman i would be willing to marry would be prettier than any woman i could ever hope to attain, so there’s that. In that sense, sex wasn’t as important to me as it might’ve been to someone else—someone that used sex to take the edge off their partner’s imperfections, and fall in love with them. I no longer thought of sex as a means to get close to someone—i expected more than that, now. I expected someone that i could get close to first—someone that already met my standards before a dependence or some foolhardy overwhelming need for sex pulled the wool over my eyes.
If my standards were unrealistic, well, what I’m saying is that was no news to me. There wasn’t anything that I could do about what I deemed beautiful and what I didn’t—who i would be willing to partner with, and who i wouldn’t. That was just a part of who i am, and how highly i think of myself, which was also a part of who i am; there was no changing that. I didn’t push myself on others, and i didn’t gloat or make ungainly comments, so no, i didn’t think of myself as arrogant or conceited. I just thought I was the cream of the crop—even if others didn’t, or couldn’t, or wouldn’t see that. So, no, i guess, no matter how much i wanted sex with the right person and or people, i didn’t want it enough to have any chance of making it happen, ever. It wasn’t just a function of living where I live, either—with no options around. I could go to a room with all the most beautiful women in the world, and get rejected by every single one. In fact, I think, no matter how many choices were presented, every single on of them would be a little offended that I might even think i had a chance—that I might approach them, and, in so doing, waste their time.
That was how i felt with my last girlfriend, even if she, for a time, showered me with attention. We talked a little online, she liked my posts, etc. I thought we might have something. I looked at a picture of her when she was younger and, although she really didn’t meet my standards even then, i had been thinking, realistically, maybe this is as good as it gets, and i have to try . . . so i did, and then we talked on video and i say how overweight she was, and yes, i was a little offended that she didn’t imagine i was out of her league from the beginning. But, even then, I imagined, well, this is unacceptable, but maybe she’ll lose the weight now that she has a reason to, which was foolish, on my part, since she didn’t, and, even if she did, once she’d secured my hand, and i was invested, she’d just gain it all back. That’s how this kind of thing goes. That’s why i was so cautious when i was younger and the people around me were young—you never know how somebody is going to age. That didn’t mean I’d accept someone my age, if they were in shape—I don’ think i would. But it would count for something—i might give them a second look, and there is some possibility, no matter how small, that a second look will lead to romance—which, even when it comes to the most beautiful woman in the world, has to do its work.
You’re hopeless. I still think i’m talking to Anna, as opposed to Ursula, for whatever reasons. But maybe this was my Ursula, too, and she didn’t mean it in the same way I imagined Anna did—she might have been making a joke, because there were women out there, and there would be women in heaven, that met my standards, and, clearly, if i was with my Ursula, then, I wasn’t hopeless at all. Now you see me. Finally, i think that was my Ursula on the line. It’s not that i don’t want to talk to Anna—i think she’s great, meant to lead, etc., and i’ll take what i can get—but why would i be talking to her when I hadn’t talked to my Ursula in several days? What would that have meant? Even if it meant I had a chance with Anna, that was no longer what i wanted—whatever romance had made me think her beautiful enough had passed, and I was back to my old, disillusioned self. I didn’t even care to watch her on social media anymore—i just wanted her to be president already, and do her thing. I didn’t want to have to watch her for that to happen. I wanted a country that already accepted me.
So you can’t stay—but I can. “I can stay—i’m not saying i can’t—i’m just saying that it might not work out that way, given my experience, my knowledge of myself, and the idea that someone might initially think they can change the amount of time I spend on my work—that, at some point, they’ll come first, and then realize, ultimately, that, in fact, I’m not going to change. Then the novelty wears off, and you want someone that will make you the most important thing in your life—and there are people out there that would definitely do that when it comes to the kind of woman you are, and the kind of woman i’d find myself dating.” So I didn’t want to get either of our hopes up—trying to turn this into something that it was never going to be. That didn’t mean i couldn’t love them, and want more; it just meant that, among all the women, in heaven, at least, that i would date—perhaps thinking, on my part, that they, instead of me, would be the one to change, or even that, somehow we might meet in the middle and that would be enough, when, really, if what they wanted was to be the center of your world, then they were probably always going to want that from their partner—how likely was it that i’d actually stumble upon a perfect, permanent match?