We’re all going to make it—we’re going to be rich and famous! that was the actress Margot Robbie talking; she used to live jammed up in an apartment (in NYC i guess) with the man that was to become her husband; i have to admit, I wasn’t exactly sure how her marriage worked—but nobody was talking about divorce and i would probably know, given the amount of time, of late, I’ve spent scrolling on Instagram, a social media outlet . . . but the odd thing about it was, no: that was Ursula’s voice—that was Ursula talking, so i wondered if my 5D self was trying to tell me something. I don’t know why Margot Robbie popped in my head—but here’s the thing: she was already rich and famous—so what was Ursula saying? That she loved me in the way that Margot Robbie loved the man (Jacob Elordi) she partnered with in the movie Wuthering Heights? But our love, like their love, was never meant to be, i.e., would she go back to her fiancé after the completion of this book?
I was going to do whatever it took to keep her on the line: you can’t quite shut people out in the realm of telepathic communications because you can’t hide the fact that you’re interested in somebody—some person that might remain anonymous. Then we were talking about Kristi Noem, the former head of Homeland Security, and her apparent LGBTQ husband; i can’t exactly say here that she is a Nazi, because, well, somebody might believe that, when, literally speaking, she’s not—so, if I did I guess she could sue me, which would have been devastating. But why was I thinking about Kristi Noem and her husband? Ursula was venting, i imagine, but she was also trying to say something, in my opinion, and i couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Was she breaking up with me? But she can’t break up with me—there’s no enforcing a law that would say I can’t project her voice and talk to the other side!
How many Dr. Peppers is that? Good question—but the answer was 2; i’d probably switch over to water, next; but what was she pointing out? That I was using again? Using Dr. Pepper? Using sparkling water? Give me a break. Even if I like to crack a can of carbonation when i’m working on one of my writing projects, and, even if i get a little stimulation out of it, I don’t go to oblivion or lose control. My mind, for the most part, remains intact—it’s just part of my process. But I know what you’re thinking: you sound just like an addict and, well, i guess that’s because I am an addict—once you’re addicted to something, well, even if you come off it, and you’ve been off it for years, you remain an addict. That never goes away—there’s no real solution until you go to heaven, and, when you do that, well, addiction does no harm, so, about half the time nobody uses at all, and about half the time people use out of habit and routine.
Just kidding i don’t know if she was still drinking coffee—i know she was a water drinker, so she might not have been—but hey, i don’t think she’s smoking grass, at least. I wondered, for a moment, if she’d ever struggled with her sobriety even a little bit. But who was Jacob Elordi, really? He seemed an awful lot like a chump to me—someone that depends on screwing different people to maintain their popularity or their intrigue—but who, nevertheless, gets older, eventually, and winds up having no clue as to what to do with themselves—especially sense, well, they weren’t so popular anymore. Maybe I was telling Ursula: “Your man is the equivalent of Jacob Elordi!” But it could have been the other way around—except for the fact that I’m not a chump. My self-worth doesn’t depend on whether I’m screwing somebody—neither does the esteem and respect that people have for me—the people, that is, that are a part of my life—that I allow to be a part of my life.
But wait a minute: Ursula was asking me how I felt about Margot Robbie! she was white, and blond (albeit she dyed her hair—but that doesn’t always matter) and she was rich, of course. She would have no problem looking after me. But yeah: she wasn’t someone i found myself immediately drawn to—but, i gathered, she was someone that could grow on you, too. So I told Ursula: “At first I was holding out for someone with blond hair and white skin, but that gradually began to change—especially once I started projecting your voice—and getting something out of it.” Oh, good she said, as if I’d given her a compliment or told her how i feel about her. I guess i kind of did do that, but she already knew everything we were talking about—this was just one of the seemingly endless assurances that lovers make up with each other—boosting the feel good chemicals in their brains a little at a time.
No, silly, I’m not asking how you feel about Margot Robbie—I’m telling you that I’m not rich! I don’t know if i ever will be, either; “that’s fine.” she might not have made enough to buy a huge apartment in the Bronx that would yield both space to paint and store my paintings until I could drive them (in a moving truck) to their storage place—and, well, that would have been a problem, but, I thought: “Don’t you get paid to give speeches and lectures every now and then? Can’t you write a book or something?” She laughed. Now, Kamala Harris, the former vice president and democratic nominee said she could run again—i could tell she wanted to, but she’d lost a lot of momentum—what had she been doing over the past year and a half—she’d written a book, but books, I admit, probably don’t get you elected—most people don’t read them.
Anyhow, Kamala Harris couldn’t exactly contain how much she wanted to be president, which led to questions, such as: what do you stand for? Do you have a spine? And, if you do, then why don’t you just go ahead and join the Republican Party? Because she favored a woman’s right to choose? Yeah, well, that was a given, but when it came to everything else, she might as well have given up on that and joined the Republican party—since she, like any Republican, and many bad democrats, depends on the rich to get elected—which, ironically enough, is exactly why she won’t get elected—so yeah, she was Ursula’s competition, and there was some concern on my part that they would compete and both of them would lose to Gavin Newsom, who, God forbid, would bring his anathema and his track record to the oval office, quite possibly cussing up a storm.