I went to an art show and ate all this food: I was coming down. I had to try a little harder to get AOC’s voice right in my head when I was using my shield. All too often, it sounded as if I was using my natural voice alone—which was my default mechanism—but my shield consisted of me pronouncing consonants and AOC pronouncing vowels. I used that shield when I wanted to engage in conversation—instead of sending everything to voicemail. On coming down (after having eaten a lot of cheese) all i can say is that you might want to sleep it off. But I wanted to sleep through the night, and do things during the day, so a nap wasn’t right for me. The best thing I could do was project the loss I was feeling onto my work—and sustain meaningful conversation that way.
“You’re crazy,” McCord said when I told him the lengths that I’ll go to in order to think meaningful, happy thoughts. But he just thought I was crazy because he couldn’t imagine somebody being able to function and do all those different things inside their head. I might’ve been feeling down because Alex turned me down in telepathic land—I was hurt because the future did not, so far, agree with us uniting. McCord was jealous of Alex: you’d think most men would encourage their woman to flirt with other women because it might lead to them getting somebody new pregnant. But homosexuality—even bisexuality, doesn’t work like that. Generally speaking, you don’t want your food mixing together because it almost always turns into mess.
McCord was getting tired of Eva, too. She didn’t have that much going on upstairs; she wasn’t a bimbo, but she didn’t care to be informed about what was going on in her corner of the universe.
“I’m getting tired of Hitler, too,” I said.
“You don’t think you can affect real change?”
“Not anymore—I’ve made myself known to those that wanted to talk to someone about being good, and what, in fact, constitutes as something that is beautiful—but I can’t change the horror show that went down in history, and so, frankly, I don’t want to suffer anymore.
“How do you use Hitler’s voice?” McCord asked.
“I use it like a water hose. I put out fires with it; I use it to tell others, in no uncertain terms, to approach at their own risk.”
“Like police and protestors?”
“Kind of, except I’m the one protesting—I’m protesting with a water hose.”
Then for a split second I ended up inside Hitler’s head and he, in my voice, said nein! And I, in his voice, said nein! Then I shifted back and said, nein! That way everybody knew that if I used Hitler’s voice I was telling them to stop doing something—such as using me as a telepathic outlet to dump their garbage.
It also meant that I could politely so no in my voice and I would be understood—no, of course, is one of the first words we learn.
So I projected AOC’s voice, and I said, nein!
That way they’d know that I wanted to be a part of Alex’s future if at all possible—and, as I said this, I didn’t feel quite so much like I was coming down. I was headed back in the other direction—I’d just have to eat half as much tonight.