6
this is Ursula holding on, now, to repressed parts of me? like what? solving the Riemann hypothesis? which wasn’t even the main objective—the main objective was to use the hypothesis to prove or argue in favor of the afterlife and the possibilities of contact with the dead. what about writing triple notes for the piano? Scales? the sky was the limit—but what could music do for me existentially? Granted, my newfangled experience was coupling with the way i write—but what did it have to do with philosophy, physics, and, most importantly, the future? i felt the ground shifting a little—i was changing, perhaps, in part, with the reduction of Lexapro—i was a few days in, now, so part of it should have been leaving my system. May have been getting a few more erections at night—but no feeling of desire; no chance at orgasm; no chance of invoking an erection—nothing much had really changed. I needed to get off the Lexapro completely, and, because of my faith, I didn’t feel so drawn to oblivion; on the contrary i was motivated to learn as much as i could, and take it with me, in the life to come. i needed, to be clear, to get off the risperidone, or, for the time being, at least, cut the dose in half. But I wouldn’t be able to do that without working with my doctor, which wouldn’t happen for another five weeks.
A lot can happen in five weeks. if you’re like me, and you take a shower every day, and you wear a t-shirt under your shirt, and you don’t sweat—well, perhaps you hardly ever wash anything but socks, underwear, and t-shirts—and, as such, you wear the same outfit four days in a row (since you hate changing your clothes)—so what i’m getting at is this: i might not change my clothes all that often over the course of five weeks, but a lot can happen, and, no matter how fast you get there—you don’t want to get there too fast because this is your life, and you don’t get time back once it’s been spent. So i had to get used to myself and what I was doing while remaining on 4mg of risperidone a day for the next five weeks.
I was thinking of getting a new modem in a couple years—i was thinking of getting that much closer to my dream of getting Ursula pregnant, and how, well, I was already taking steps in that direction—even more so than I had, in the past, when I started writing love poetry (last July: now it is April) so we technically hadn’t been talking to each other for that long, but a lot had happened in that time, and I was leaving breadcrumbs for her to find all throughout my work—bread crumbs that would eventually lead, hopefully, to making enough money to look after a child. Now—i know why Ursula, in part, didn’t want to get pregnant yet: she had momentum. If she left the scene to look after a child, she might lose that momentum, and her chances at becoming president could be ruined. Fine—she was 35—she could be president at 38; that left her 6 years to get pregnant and be president—which, in my opinion, would have been the right, strategic move. It might even help her get reelected in 2032.
But if she became president there would be 0 chance of me accosting her—my entire plan depended on her accosting me, actually; i have to admit—the sheer outlandishness of that goes against my hopes for the future and makes me want to change course—to let Ursula become an ex, and go on her way, bound to bond with someone else. But I can’t, and won’t, do that—this is the woman that is going to usher in healthcare for all—she’s going to tax billionaires, and make life affordable for everybody—and, also, everybody was going to get more time to spend with their family because AI was picking up the slack. I was in love with that. My connection to the future depended on that—and, honestly, what would i do if I met a bleak, Swedish blond—less bleak, then, after we united? would I project her voice instead of Ursula’s? I couldn’t imagine doing that—Ursula had the microphone to the future; a relationship might not survive her replacement—indeed, she would remain, in part, in some form, with me forever, barring the seemingly impossible notion that she’d treat me badly—that she would turn out to be a bad person.
But i have to tell you, right now, when i thought of her, i could see a bad person; someone that would abuse me, eventually, given the chance—someone that, like others, would cheat. I didn’t know what was happening, exactly. But I had to keep in mind—the Ursula that I am involved with includes the Ursula that lives both in the future and in the afterlife—and the Ursula I see and hear on my screen is still going through the things that will bring her indefinitely closer to my address. If I felt fire and jealousy, right now, it might have had something to do with Ursula not being able to help it—of getting treated a little poorly at home and, after getting a boost from all the people that were so excited to be in her presence, she couldn’t help but feel relief, confidence, and joy. I was seeing that—and I had to consider that she wasn’t necessarily going to treat her boyfriend (e.g. me) like he wasn’t worth the time of day. Anyhow, I could, in short, be confusing two slightly different people—the unhappy Ursula that couldn’t help but seize upon moments of joy, even if, perhaps, a little artificially, and the happy person that is, at this address, content to live, love, and speak with me.
So were we breaking up? I was definitely going to break up with Lexapro. I was going to do pretty much whatever I had to do to achieve and or sustain two things: 1) the ability to go to sleep in a reasonable amount of time and sleep through the night and, 2) the ability to feel desire leading to orgasm on a regular basis, even if I never acted on it. I believed that these two things were achievable—and, furthermore, that, once off the risperidone, I could lose a little belly fat, and get down to 160 pounds, which was completely reasonable, considering that, at the moment, I weigh 166. But right now, after having seen Ursula on my screen, i was dying with jealousy, seeing her so skinny and beautiful, wearing sunglasses that made her look way too cool—something that, even as a smoker, I never quite achieved—at least in the sense of having and making friends, even if, ultimately, we never saw each other that much.