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I’m sorry! Just 1 more this week.

June 11, 2015


I’m reading fiction by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.” At least I think it’s fiction. He ties his book together with the other works of his I’ve read, starting with “Slaughterhouse Five.” Okay, I realize that wasn’t his first novel. Rosewater has truth. For that matter, the Harry Potter books have truth. They pull in popular folklore, magic, and superstition. These truly exist in our minds. I guess I don’t know much more about writing than I did before.
Euphuistic writing is a turn off for me. Can’t stand when they are trying too hard to sell me their work. I’m sorry!
I like a story and my dreams have those stories. I keep thinking that one of my nightmares would make one. This means unwittingly…hell, I can’t go on with that line of thought. I hate hearing about another person’s dreams. No dreams!
I have abandonment issues, yet I am a happy person. My spouse complains that I look sad. Could it be that my face is getting too heavy for the muscles that hook all the tissues to the bones of my skull? I am taking antidepressants because I used to think about death while walking to work almost exactly one-half mile away. I didn’t think about killing myself, no. I just thought about how great it was going to be not to exist any more. These thoughts became burdensome, a real drag, so I asked my internist for help, and he prescribed a medication. A year or so later the intrusive thoughts returned, so I phoned his nurse, who came back with a second antidepressant medicine for me and a return appointment. These two meds have held me. People don’t like to be around me when I’m depressed. On the other hand, pretending to be happy also sucks for them and for me. Currently, I am fine with being almost happy. I still have abandonment issues, yet I am happy. Almost.
Everyone has abandonment issues, don’t they? We grew up at the mercy of adults who were barely out of their childhoods who abandoned us. I hate this line of thought, too. The point is, my girlfriend, several, actually, broke up with me. Broke my heart. Oh, boo hoo! This would be ludicrous if it were not so painful to me, even now. The I Ching says that if a person is oppressed by things that shouldn’t oppress [them] bad things will happen. I think this refers to people who allow the world to hem them in. This is not me. I have a way of confronting the world. At least I can confront the things that I am not too afraid to confront. Shit! Bad things are coming!
I don’t know how to write fiction. When the children were young I occasionally tried to make up stories but I kept forgetting the characters’ names and the story sort of dwindled when my audience left me alone. This was awkward as I sat at the side of their beds and they slipped out the other sides and ran from the room.
Later—perhaps 30 years later—I made up a story at a sandwich shop that featured pickles so I told it to my nephew’s daughter and her friend as they ate. I used an image from a “Little Lulu” comic book from my childhood, a burglar with a large nose. “Pickle nose” had an adventure. Again, the adventure ran out of steam as I told my tale.

Next time: a true story.

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