It had been a few days since I’d kept this appointment—talking to Ursula across time and space—basically like we’re occupying the same exact headspace—call me a negative Nancy but I was worried about her weight again—figuring if the last ten years is any indication, then, by the time she’s in the oval, well, she could gain another twenty pounds, which would have made her chunky, and then, well, if she had a baby—who ever comes back from having a baby . . . well, to be fair, some people do, but, on average, i’d say most people don’t lose half the weight they put on. Now, these imaginations indicated, I’m quite sure, that I had real feelings for Ursula and I didn’t want to get off track from my true self—a person that sleeps with people that weigh a reasonable amount, not just anybody.
But I never paid attention to what a person might weigh in the past. I just assumed they’d look the way they do in the present, and, if they didn’t, then I’d find somebody else by then. It wasn’t that complicated—I just didn’t think about it. Maybe I’m trying to tell myself something . . . that life is too short, and i should go back to the way i was then—that is, a person that sticks to the present when the backchanneling is good and, to say the least, a person that sticks to the backchanneling when the present gets distorted by people that take this life and, instead of applying themselves to something spiritual directly . . . well, they eat to be one with the spirit, don’t they? Can you blame them, knowing how hard it is to stay whole in this cruel world, run by bad people that think of nothing but themselves? I was lucky, and, perhaps because of that, I was going to use that luck to change the world—so that boredom wouldn’t be the price of raising a family . . . or the price of anything.
Social media is nonresponsive I have to admit that I thought it was kind of funny that she said that; i know she liked to check her social media and see how many likes and comments and views she got. I know it made her feel good, at least I felt good when I was getting a lot of views for a brief period of time—a trial period in which Facebook pushed my content and then, after a little while, decided that people weren’t interested enough to justify pushing my stuff to so many people. But it was nonresponsive for me, too, saving a few die hard colleagues that were kind enough to like my content when they saw it. You never loved me . . . but i don’t know what the point of saying that was. Clearly she had reservations, too, about me, so I chose to believe the following: She had feelings for me, too, and they scared her, too. But we really weren’t getting anywhere when we kept talking around the fact that we were necessarily physically separated—since the person that was becoming my ideal president (minus the weight gain) got in that position without any physical knowledge of me.
Now, i don’ t know what’s up with me; I’m down to 2 mg of risperidone a day for about a week, now, and it’s still quite difficult to feel desire for anybody—man, woman, white, brown, whatever. I couldn’t get my rocks off. that was a little disheartening since i figured my prolactin levels must have gone down, which, theoretically, should have corrected the problem. Now, there were possible sexual side effects with Latuda, too, but the effects were supposed to be much more forgiving. That was a real drag, and I was anxious to get off the risperidone completely to see if that helped. I was going to give it another day and then drop down to 1mg and twice the Latuda amount—which would take me from 40 mg to 80 mg. I was just thinking and praying that the Latuda increase wasn’t going to sustain the problem—where the problem, at this point, is that I can’t think of much of anything that would help me to get my rocks off—I feel plenty anxious for the release you get, but getting to that point was extremely difficult for me.
Which meant, realistically, that it might not make any fucking difference whether I loved somebody or not—I basically just wasn’t going to be able to do the backchanneling that i wanted to do. What else? Well, you can’t stop me now—i’m going to love you no matter what you do . . . encouraging words, although I’m not sure I was listening to her talk to me; i figured, instead, that I was overhearing her talking and thinking about her boyfriend. Her relationship with her boyfriend was really confusing to me because when I saw her and listened to her (which I don’t do as much as you might think) i found it difficult to imagine her with another person. She always seemed to me to be like someone that lives alone—someone that’s one hundred percent into their career, like me. I just didn’t understand how she could be engaged and living in this limbo position, and, frankly, that, for me, as much as anything, was a red flag. As much as I wanted her to be my president, I couldn’t help but imagine that she, in fact, might not be the perfect person that I’m wont to think she is. That, in actuality, she’d ghost me or treat me like shit if things went south—or she’d let her career and what other people might think about her stop her from getting married or having a baby.
She lived in a gray area—totally committed to getting us the healthcare we needed . . . I could only hope, come to think of it, that she would include me, that I wouldn’t be locked out of free health care because of the amount of money that my parents had—643 dollars a month needed to be reduced to nothing in a hurry, so I was a little apprehensive about this—that she’d fall short of healthcare for all, no matter what your socio-economic background was. Basically I was feeling a lot of reservation at this time, which might have had something to do with the idea that getting off the risperidone should completely cure me of my asexuality—or the lack of desire that I needed to backchannel with the telepathic community, both living, in this life, and if not living in this life, then living, faithfully, in the next.
You’re not accomplishing much, are you? I couldn’t tell if she was joking—yeah I’d gone on a math binge for two or three days but I hadn’t done any math for the last couple days and when it came to my music i was making a lot of progress—so I think she might’ve meant: yeah, you’re making a lot of progress, etc. Cool, i thought. I think she was genuinely interested in my work—which would go a long way when it came to feeling both adequate and in love, but it still wasn’t going to fix the desire problem. I had no desire for the Italian PM anymore either. I pretty much took that as far as it was going to go. But no, in that department i wasn’t making a lot of progress—and this shit is why I’m a stoic. Ursula’s sense of humor had an edge to it—she might be saying something positive about one thing and simultaneously be saying something sarcastic or negative about something else. So it was a bad idea to get high off some compliment or modicum of attention that she might have issued in your direction. “Damn you,” I thought, since she’d basically buttered me up so that her negative comment would pierce the surface more easily. Don’t have a cow she literally said that—so, i don’ t know, she might’ve been kidding me a little on that front—maybe she felt she could kid me about it because she’d already decided that she was going to work with me as opposed to against me when it came to having sex—that she knew all about me and loved me anyhow.