5
So I’d been avoiding certain social media since seeing Anna was a little painful and confusing. Ever since I’d become obsessed with physics, and my mistakes, and rewriting the nonsense i wrote when i didn’t know any better, which had been going on for a while now, I’d hardly been projecting her voice, either, if at all. In fact I’d hardly been projecting my voice either—when i took a bath I projected a voice when I recited my lines, but that was pretty much it, and I hadn’t been taking a lot of baths of late either. The idea of paying for that much water if i wasn’t going to sit there for a long time didn’t make any sense, and sitting there for a long time, with so many questions on my mind—questions to pose AI with, didn’t make a lot of sense either. I took a bath today, for example, to try and align a little, and to try and get my back and shoulders to relax a little, but I probably wouldn’t take one tomorrow, or even the day after that. Then again, who can say?
You can leave me in the lurch, you can leave me for later, i don’t care. I wasn’t going to leave anybody in the lurch—she didn’t need to worry about that. Even if I wasn’t entirely in love anymore i would try to find my way back, because, as it happens, family and responsibility, when compared to some variable love affair, were more important. But she must have known, too, that we’d probably never be together in this life (if she was as rare as me) and so I concluded that she must have been talking about 5D, but, even then, getting pregnant, I imagine, in 5D, doesn’t happen very often, and it would be a blessing that I couldn’t pass up, even if, somehow, my feelings began to shift. I would simply do everything in my power to make things work—to find the love, no matter how difficult it might be to find. But, yeah, this was definitely my Ursula. I recognized her somewhat dark sense of humor, her desperation, and her passion. She truly loved me. I knew that.
Yeah, I’d been consumed by physics questions that i kept putting into AI—sometimes wasting my time, i think, fighting the limitations of AI by expressing my frustration when, let’s face it, AI, right now, is far from perfect. But I was grateful anyhow, since, without it, i never would have been able to pursue my philosophical and physical ideas about the universe. It did occur to me, very recently, however, that physics, for me, based on the amount of nonsense i’d discovered, might be a waste of time. My questions and this notion that i have some talent for answering such questions could entirely be a function of my schizophrenia, and, as such, i was beginning to feel that it was important to stick with my painting and my writing, every day if possible, without allowing myself to be consumed by what could, for me, be a complete and total disaster. I needed to stick with what i was good at. That didn’t mean i needed to stop physics altogether—indeed, i don’t think, at this point, that i’m capable of that. But it meant doing everything i could not to let it, and it alone, eat up an entire day.
Also, although, or perhaps, in part, because of the fact that it crossed my mind that my writing would be discovered once I was dead—once people no longer saw me and my ego as a threat to them and their ego, that, in fact, i never would be discovered. That nobody would push my work after i was dead, to get it discovered, and, even if they did, they might face the same rejection i did when I was looking for an agent—which was complete and total. My work simply wasn’t conventional or popular enough to get my foot in the door—and it had been crossing my mind that it was very possible that no matter how good i thought it was, or even how good, in reality, it was, nobody would see that. Nobody would ever give me a chance, or, even if they did, nobody would ever spend enough time on selling both me and my work to make its potential realizable. It just seemed, the more i thought about it, that the odds were really against me, no matter what. So, yeah, of late, I’d really been having some sobering thoughts. Not only that my physics ideas could, in the end, turn out to be nothing but the byproduct of my mental illness, but that, also, my painting and my writing simply wouldn’t get out there. That, ultimately, nobody in the art world or the publishing market would choose, or find themselves able, to do anything with it. My thoughts, to say the least, had taken a stark and sobering turn.
I knew that such thoughts should not be taken at face value: that these thoughts were akin to my struggles with my faith—on the one hand, you doubt your faith, and then, the more you doubt, it, you eventually doubt all that doubt, and get your faith back again, and you go back and forth like that, and or you live with both doubt and faith simultaneously in the balance, and that’s life. You go on like that forever, and just as you can never really know anything when it comes to the existence of a higher power, i’d never really be able to know anything when it came to the longevity of my work. There was a real tension there, and that’s the nature of this 4D life, and all its time dependent imperfections. But even knowing all this—i couldn’t help, of late, but think that my ideas about myself might be based on my mental illness, that my work might not, in fact, be something memorable, no matter how much of it I did, and that, ultimately, i might let whatever friends or family that i might have—that might take up the torch, down. I think, for example, that my family believes in the longevity of my work, and it is annoying to think that i might not live up to their beliefs, and their faith, in me.