i feared a little . . . that i might go down in history as a tramp; i couldn’t say for sure whether she was speaking in the perfect or imperfect past—but, considering the possibilities of an affair, i could understand where she was coming from. An affair, i think, would do damage to her career; real, working class people (that didn’t drink) didn’t have the time or the energy for affairs—they were busy working and sleeping. so they might not vote for someone they once thought was legit; on the other hand they might think: there’s somebody i can get a piece of—maybe the whole enchilada, and, therefore, yes, i will vote for her. An affair saps the energy out of your life, however, and, once people get over talking about it, they don’t like you so much. Because they know that you’ll do it to them, too, when they see that you’re inexplicably happy after breaking up.
help me out of this hole! was she being sucked into a blackhole? Was her body getting ripped apart by the force of gravity? the question we have to ask ourselves, now, is: who was she having this affair with? Superman—the governor of California? Is it true that those who cheat once will always cheat—given the opportunity? Well, to be fair, Superman didn’t cheat on anybody on his side of the argument—his wife was filing, before the affair, for divorce. So maybe, in that case, Superman wouldn’t seduce Ursula; furthermore, Ursula might not have been seduced. It was definitely unfair to say that Superman was a cheat—and that, as a cheat, he’d cheat again—given the opportunity, which, let’s face it, with all the traveling, as president, that he’d be doing—if he was looking for anything he’d find something: how he’d know if they weren’t a honeypot—a prostitute or an agent sent, possibly, by someone who wanted power over him, I don’t know—how, as a powerful man, do you ever know?
i confessed, then, that, when i was letting myself go—or, from my perspective, doing the best i could to tap into my true self, i’d wake up after a night on the sauce in the middle of the night, beeline to the fridge, and stuff myself with a a couple handfuls of chocolate chips or, often enough, sausage patties with cheese. I admit, i had little consideration or thought for the person i was going to have to live with when the life caught up to me. In my defense (and it’s no excuse) other people—and the “business of living” had reduced me to the man that was doing all that—to the man that was treating his body recklessly—if not with contempt.
What, then? I have no place in my heart for criminals—we’re all in this together; there is no easy way out. Out of hell? Out of heck? Which one was worse—the one that everybody deemed as the place where, as lawless people, they and their foes would meet? But clearly, they didn’t believe in hell, not really, unless they imagined that life on earth, in fact, was hell, heck, or whatever. You had these billionaires and these corporate donors that made it impossible for you—as the competition, and, hence, the enemy—to live a happy, healthy, and productive life—realizing your true potential and making the maximum contribution, in turn, to the melting pot. you can’t keep us apart and maybe, just maybe, she was talking about me? Or was she talking about the person, in heaven, that she, essentially, would be—a woman, that, no doubt, “prior” to this life, made no small mark on the cosmos.
you want to write and, in doing that, you’re making a statement you’re saying that your telepathic, and you want to explore that, and become part of a future realm perhaps before other people got there—yeah, that sounded about right—writing wasn’t about provoking people, not anymore. It was about rising above something that interfered with your telepathic self, the one that, try as we might, leaves us crawling back for more. right now, at this juncture, I cracked a diet Dr. Pepper and used my Ursula code-phrase, so, if the past were any indication, i’d have her on the line in seconds. that’s right, so, what’s up? suddenly, however, my mom brought me a treat—four juicy strawberries wrapped in a paper towel. don’t underestimate me. So I had to consider—as i did when I was sick—if this indicated a connection between me talking to Ursula and “life” bringing me a treat. I happened to believe that energy was transferred back and forth from 4D to 5D—and, as such, I took no small pleasure in thinking: yes, Ursula is talking to me—the universe—also known, at this point, as Ursula, was encouraging me to follow my nose.
don’t go ape-shit, but i’m getting married i wasn’t crushed—i knew this could happen, and the fact that it happens right now, after i got my strawberries, is telling. She’s trying to let me down easily, but, really, she doesn’t know what she wants. She wants me, i think. but she doesn’t know me—she only knows that she’s happy enough in her life, right now, to commit to that life as she understands it. not really she said. Was I relieved? Well, I half expected her to marry soon enough; i’d still communicate with her—she’d still be my link to the future—to the 5D Ursula—or would she? Whatever is best—whatever feels right, that’s what we’ll do. If she married then? Was she putting the joke out there to normalize the severity of her intentions—to bring something to fruition that, otherwise, would have been instantaneously rejected?