5
She’s living in the corner; after a fight, she leaves the house—goes somewhere to check her social media; that’s not true and i say, “oh yes it is.” so she’ll leave him with the apartment, will she? Is he protected? Ursula already started looking like an ex to me; i get some impression, now, of how she treats him—how she functions, adapts to relationship change—don’t know what she was like in the past; suppose it doesn’t matter unless it puts things in perspective, in her favor, i imagine, if her behavior has improved. It occurs to me now—the way that I acted when my infinitesimal blips happened is more justified than not. people don’t know who they’re messing with, they want to go and poke the bear. Anyhow it doesn’t matter how she treats him: it matters how she treats me. I don’t anticipate things coming to an end at some unforeseeable point in the future, wholly at my expense.
telepathic love ”yes, that’s what we have,” but it’s really extra-dimensional love, since there’s a whole other level to it; we are not complete people here on earth; we are not complete people in heaven, either. We are a combination of the two—this life gives us a picture of what we look like to others when things go in our favor, and, when they don’t, we’re made whole in the next life—and everything starts to make sense. Such as who’s at fault when a relationship goes south. You might say both people are at fault. But when you live at the center of the universe, like me, you can back everything up, and the old way of assuming blame goes out the window. I don’t assume blame anymore. That’s the difference between what happened, for me, in the past, and what happens, for me, now.
Bottom-line? Yes, I can imagine Ursula doing me wrong and going round with a silent smirk on her face—having extricated herself from a man that doesn’t like to give up what he puts his heart into. Even if he only puts a little something in it, well, he, me, whatever, i don’t like it. And I don’t like being punished for wanting to keep friends in my life. But that’s not how it works for me in my blips: it always ends ugly because i’ve discovered bad people, and i have reacted to that. Bad people, bad families, all of the above. But Ursula is not a bad person, yet—and if she is a bad person, then I’m confused, because i’ve assumed, all this time, that she exists—that I’m meant to have at least one good friend in the life to come—a friend that I can be intimate with—since intimacy is an event, and events, in heaven, are what we look forward to.
But I’m wise, too, and I have some sense of how telepathic communication works: when something looks like it’s going in our favor 100 percent, there’s often some risk involved. And when we begin to look on with some small amount of apprehension—that’s when things are becoming real, and, when they do, we seek to defend ourselves from whatever we might’ve overlooked when we thought that we were unlovable. In fact, we still feel that we are unlovable, and that is why we can’t believe it when someone that we find attractive begins to find themselves interested in us. A correct interpretation of telepathic communications, at this point, would be the following: Ursula was beginning to realize that something was missing in her life. Part of that was her role as the president, whenever that did or didn’t happen; if it didn’t happen, i could only hope that she’d use her influence by any means necessary to get our health insurance paid for.
Right now her dreams of being president, which she would viciously defend when threatened, were mixed up with her relationship with her fiancé; that was the path that, up to now, had worked so well for her. But she wasn’t truly happy—she was missing something, and that something was me—or, at least, that’s what I believed, so long, that is, that she assisted, rather than betrayed, my creative endeavors. I could get vicious too, when threatened, but I tried not to. I could usually see things in advance, like I can right now, and it’s not lost on me that i sound arrogant. I don’t act arrogant anymore, but, when given the chance, when I’m not around my parents, and suppressed parts of myself would emerge, i think i kind of am arrogant. I do my best to help it, and, if people are on my side I might not be described as arrogant, but, when I look within,, well, I have some sneaking suspicion that I am the center of the universe. I’m kind of kidding, I guess, but maybe not really.
I do my best to compensate for that arrogance by dedicating myself to making everything that i might be called arrogant about so good and real that I can no longer be called arrogant. That, for me, is easier than thinking a little less of myself, even if, in the short term, I might prove more comfortable around others—and they might feel more comfortable around me. I just don’t care. I know myself, and I see myself in Ursula—and I look, consequently, for the things about her that are suppressed that might come out if fortune turned against me—or her. Right now she had all this potential—the sky’s the limit. But what would happen if she proved too much for the hate-ridden half of this country to unite with? But she’s smart. She says herself that she’s doing what she does not only for the working class, but also for the poor white racists that would overlook anything if it made being “country” any easier.
She belongs in the Senate right now—and that’s practically where she is; i had no qualms about living with, and loving, an accomplished senator—and while I might not factor into the equation—since we see what we want to see sometimes—taking over the senate was doable. The polls reflected that already. I have to say, I have not always been fond of New York and New Yorkers, but once I discovered the person they were electing for mayor, and the fact that they elected Ursula, my feelings changed. Maybe I didn’t want to live there—cramped, noisy, and with an ever present dread that I’d become targeted by a nuclear bomb—but I developed more respect for everybody that lived there. Now, if they reelected Chuck Schumer, well—but that wasn’t going to happen. At least I hope not—i didn’t want anybody that was killing the democratic party like a wench, catering to big donors and, because of that, refusing to tax the rich. I don’t really mean the kind of rich. I mean the really, really, rich, the people that hoarded wealth and made our lives, in that way, with the government they paid for, in a state of urgency and fear about the future.
Not to mention what should be an inalienable right—to be allowed to have a family—to know that two children were paid for—that the government was looking after all of us. That government, unlike some people, did not do what rich people might want them to do—i.e. make them richer. Now the big question on Ursula’s mind in it’s current state would be this: is what you are doing going to hurt me or help me be the president and fulfil my lifelong dream of making life affordable for everybody? She might say, “working class families,” and this is where we might differ, although I suspect we don’t. Because when I say working class families, I mean anybody that is homeless or doesn’t work, too. I mean that nobody should be homeless—and nobody should be forced to do something that they can’t do—working should be a means to have a third child—but everybody else should be allotted 2—or at least one. One child, at least, should be paid for.