I used to pray that I’d be able to pay my health insurance; I prayed about many things, but it was not at all uncommon for me to pray about my health insurance. I was kind of a prayer Nazi, meaning I took it very seriously. I’d gulp down a scoop of coffee and go back to my room, sit on my ankles, make prayer hands, and pray allowing each vowel to take approximately a second to pronounce. I’d sit on my ankles for twenty minutes at a time doing that—and this was years ago—like over a decade ago. I didn’t do that kind of thing anymore—it seemed to wind me up a little, making me liable to calculated bursts of rage. I took the prayer seriously, but the prayer took me seriously, too, and tried, i think, to shape me into someone that would, of their own accord (with nothing to prove and without a burst of coffee), do that kind of thing.
Incorporating telepathic conversations into my day to day life seemed a little more reasonable than winding myself up and making myself angry, so that’s what i’ve done, and I probably won’t go back to being a ninja. Now, if something, like a ninja mission, crossed my path, then I might revert to that kind of intensity, but, overall, like I said, I was just making myself angry. that’s impressive and i was glad she thought so because I also thought it was impressive, and, anyhow, I know i got something out of it, I just don’t know exactly what. Ursula was talking about a bill now that was supposed to make it impossible for people in congress to trade stocks—which made a lot of sense, because they’d do things for themselves and their cronies to make their lives a little easier, and quit thinking, one hundred percent, about serving the poor.
you’re a real bastard, you know that? more jokes – her way of convincing me that she was worth my time. “I can’t help you,” that was my joke, my way of telling her that i can’t help her leave her man; that joke had a little bite to it, i admit, because if she really wanted to be my hero she’d go celibate and on her own for the foreseeable future. then i really would’ve been in love. But I wasn’t going to check up on that—i wasn’t going to let myself get dragged down by checking with AI to see if she was still in a relationship. She always seemed centered or happy or both, so i could only assume that she wasn’t grieving his loss, which, after so many years, must’ve amounted to something.
Considering all the basement dwellers that must’ve had their eye and their hopes on Ursula, i kind of felt like a fool. But I was more than just a basement dweller (aren’t we all)? I was a telepathic communicator, which, somehow, in this time period, just made me seem pathetic. I was doing fine, though. I was taking my four mg of risperidone a day, and I wasn’t hallucinating—all the voices I heard stemmed from my mind’s ear—i didn’t hear anything “out-loud.” It occurred to me, then, that Ursula might not have been interested in a relationship, and, since her boyfriend didn’t give her any grief, she chose to partner with him. That might be the best that anybody could hope for from her. Or was I talking about myself? Was it me, not her, in fact, that, if i could, would settle with a partner that didn’t give me any grief? Somebody, perhaps, that loved me more than I loved them—did that amount to everybody?
yes, that amounts to everybody Jokes? Barbed jokes? But I honestly didn’t know if I was capable of loving someone as an adult—someone that knew and accepted themselves—someone free of addiction, etc. when i wasn’t creating i was on the borderline of having a panic attack—horrified of what the future, for me, had in mind. Would I be able to exist after my parents passed? Hopefully i’d be pretty old by the time that happened and set enough in my ways and comfortable enough with myself (after so many years of practice) to adapt without fear of a panic attack. Now I was speaking in place of the consonants that i’d normally be intoning; i said, in my own voice, which, i suspected, meant i was using my fifth dimensional “me” voice—he was talking to Ursula: “you can be what you want to be” or was he talking to me? i think he was actually talking to me—that, i had effectively freed up a channel to talk to him when I was using Ursula to project vowels.
i repeated the phrase to Ursula. Switching, now, to my voice projecting the vowels you can do that—you can want me, you can be me, you can have me; but she was speaking, i think, from the fifth dimension when she said this—some future point in time. i wondered, however, if, through me, she could tune into the version of herself (my equal) that lived in 5D—aka the afterlife. or don’t be anything show up at my doorstep, and, be warned, i won’t know who you are but know, in your heart, that you are loved, and, one day, i will recognize you, though i suspect you can find someone whiter and blonder than me so she was joking, i hope, because she must’ve known that working for congress, and being a presidential candidate with a real chance, was a dealbreaker. it’s not a deal breaker, though, is it? what can I say? if she gets me, and I am understood, in ways, perhaps, that I don’t even know about myself, then yeah, i think it is a dealbreaker—what’s going to matter is the way i feel about her, and, considering both her beauty and her status, she’d do perfectly fine as my trophy wife.