I was feeling better today, although my sleep got a little restless in the early morning hours. I chose to do nothing, or attempt to do nothing, however, with an erection that, in and of itself, showed progress, and meant, in part, that the medication changes were working. That meant that I didn’t find myself trying to force what, frankly, had no basis. Now could I achieve an orgasm? Maybe; but i don’t really know; hence I can’t say that the medication change is working completely, but I can’t say that it isn’t, either, and I simply don’t know of anyone or anything that would turn me on enough to achieve what I was trying to achieve—100 percent confidence that, if i did find a suitable girlfriend, well, I’d be able to follow through—and not necessarily after great sappy feelings of love would or would not take hold. Frankly, I wanted to backchannel in a productive way—I think it would go a long way to ease a little stigmatic loneliness that sprang, for the most part, from the realities of the anonymous life that I am forced to lead.
But i was recovering from this feeling of falling out of love remarkably well, I think. Was I still using Anna’s voice both as a filter and to represent my Ursula? Yes, of course—that was unlikely to change—another woman of her caliber and connections was unlikely to come along—especially one with such a distinctive voice. But no, I didn’t foresee myself using her to fuel insufficient feelings of desire. She deserved better, and i, too, deserved better—so, instead of conjuring something that made me unhappy to think about, and, in effect, because of that, left me dumping my back, I chose to divvy up all that energy into bite sized chunks that I could disseminate throughout my creative endeavors throughout the day. That probably had a lot to do with why I was feeling better—that and the understanding that comes with a little time to consider the world minus the excitement of being, or possibly achieving, true love and the kind of heavenly happiness that can only come from true love.
I was facing a challenge, now, however: now that Anna and Ursula were no longer, at least hopefully, seemingly the same person, I had to be careful that I didn’t get my signals crossed—since, technically, I was engaging the both of them at the same time. You can do what you want; now, again, i don’t think Anna was telling me that I could do what I want because I don’t think she wanted me—and I think she was too smart to want someone that didn’t want her. But what was Ursula saying? And it occurred to me that she was saying just that: we could be with each other without 100 percent certainty that we were soulmates—and that was encouraging, because, well, I can never be 100 percent certain that the present form Ursula was taking was actually the final version of my Ursula. So she was going to let me have my cake and eat it, too, which posed another question. Did that mean that she was also going to have her cake and eat it, too?
Was I comfortable with that? And, if I wasn’t, was I prepared to give up on having my cake and eating it, too—was I really prepared to engage someone in a relationship that meant 100 percent monogamous commitment or no relationship at all? I thought about it—and I decided that yes, she could have her cake and eat it, too, although I suspect that, if we really loved each other, this wasn’t going to realistically happen very often, unless we were in heaven and conditions were perfect—not because that was the most desirable course in general, but, instead, because that course, in a perfect world, was going to take us to the next event, that, in heaven, we both simultaneously wanted to attend. In short, it would be a part of the total machinery that made up what everybody in heaven wanted to do in the future—everything and everybody, and the actions they took, because we were in heaven, would coincide perfectly upon some future event—some future form of agreeable entertainment.
if that’s what you want . . . again—not Anna, however much it might’ve boosted my ego to think that, yes, she wants me even if I don’t want her. we’re going to be happy together and, indeed, I was pleased to hear that, because i believed that too—and, furthermore, if this woman turned out to be a physical manifestation of a female god that embodied my Ursula however she deemed fit, I took this to mean, too, that when our paths changed, if they changed, nobody was going to be ghosting anybody. The relationship would continue happily and separate happily—in such a way that we both got what we really wanted in the end. You just make things up, don’t you? And, well, my intuition told me that, on this occasion, i was actually talking to Anna, which was nice, because I looked up to her, and I wanted to remain connected to her, both emotionally and professionally. But how was i supposed to tell her that, no, i don’t think i do just make things up. It certainly might seem that way—but, I also figured, that, if telepathic communication were proceeding correctly, it would appear that, indeed, I was telling myself exactly what i wanted to hear—and that, furthermore, i was trying to manipulate people—trying to get my way—and only my way.
“No, I’m not just making things up,” I said. “I’m doing what i love”. And we’re happy to hear it which, i imagined, came from both of them. But I don’t think Anna really believed me, which was kind of ironic, since we were speaking to each other telepathically—so I could only conclude, of course, that she was speaking telepathically without knowing that she was doing it. That was also the most probable scenario—under what conditions would she actually know how to speak telepathically, and that that was what was happening? Wouldn’t she have to know me, then? Was that even possible? Maybe—but it was highly unlikely that I would be able to convince her, telepathically, that she was, in fact, telepathic, and that we were speaking to each other. Ursula, on the other hand, most likely had some knowledge of what I’m writing—she’d probably read some of it, which was probably how she’d learned to communicate with me—whereas Anna, who, now that we’d determined was not Ursula, existed solely in the present, and, in fact, never read any of this since, well, she would have no apparent means of doing so. Yeah, she could have looked at my website, but, well, nobody, at this time, was reading these posts.