PsychoNewsletter
We’llbe great together, I’m sure. I can feelit inside me, bubbling through my being entire, an entity of itself, separatefrom myself. I can feel it in the smallof my back, sort of a throbbing pressure, which constant and for all timesinsists we are meant for each other. Youare the one, the one I dream of so often, the one to ease my mind, to protectme from demons, which are undoubtedly of my own making, the one to make meignore the fact that the world is an onion, a great stinking husk. You are the one sent from the very heavensabove, sent down on clear puffy smiling clouds to cure me of this, mydisenchantment. If you only saw things,all the little things that tell me we are destined to live as one, you wouldcease this endless struggle. However,you see the problems, always and forever the problems.
Iagree though, there are problems. I canunderstand what you mean and I know that when upon the first night we met, inan Irish bar, fiddles and flutes whispering melodies over my words, theproblems began from moment one. Iremember trying to buy you a drink and with red faced shame discovered thelucky twenty I keep in my walled to be absent. I stammered something of an apology, at which time, with a shake of yourhead I took to insinuate disgust in at least a mild degree, you paid for mydrink. I know that this moment did notsignal great things for our future. Iknow also my stammered, confused attempts to humor you must have not made thegreatest of impressions, but I swear in all earnestness that I meant nodisrespect when I told that damned monkey joke. I merely intended to start what some people refer to as small talk andasked you to weigh in your opinion on the great monkey versus ferret debate.
“Whatdid you say?” You asked with a look ofcomplete horror in your eyes, the smile which grace your features a momentearlier already a distant memory.
“Whichdo you prefer, monkeys or ferrets? Imean, as I see it, both possess endearing qualities, but in my opinion ferretsare by far preferable when it comes to choosing a sexual partner.” I said. I thought or rather hoped you would see the obvious comical nature of myquestion, but much to my surprise, you blinked at me and waved your hand tointerrupt.
“Thatis the most disgusting thing I’ve heard in my life.”
Notwhat I wanted to hear. No, indeed. I sat stunned and wondering how a person canfail to have an opinion on that matter. Maybe I should have asked how you felt about monkeys in general and ifyou failed to follow, discontinued my line of questioning. My mistake, as usual, is asking a questiontoo far up the river, so to speak.
Youignored me after the question, seemingly ignorant of my very presence,preferring to instead stare into your drink; probably even wishing me to leave,but I plowed through these masquerades and began the conversation anew.
“Tellme something.” I asked, trying to gainyour attention.
“Something.” You said, without looking away from yourdrink. You seemed to find the commentfunny, laughing for a few moments in my general direction.
“Tellme what a lady, one dignified enough to not have an opinion on the monkeyissue, is doing here alone.” Iasked. I impressed myself with wit andenjoyed a bit of laughter.
“Iam meeting someone.” You answered, thistime looking at me, probing me with your eyes, digging your stare into myskin.
“Theplot thickens.” I said. I rubbed my hands in anticipation.
“No,no. It’s not like that at all. I’m waiting for a friend.”
“Doeshe know that?” I asked. I smiled, pleased with myself. You laughed as well, a low agreeing chuckleflowing into a short burst of laughter.
“Weare just friends, I swear.”
“Thereis no need to swear.” I said. You nodded understanding, smiling.
Silenceand drink staring returned all the while I watched the bartender, new and greento the trade, struggle to make a drink. He looked around for a bottle, confused.
“Thirdbottle from the left, pour a two count.” I said, not even thinking.
“Thanks.” The bartender said.
You shook your head at meonce again.
“Seemssomeone spends a bit too much time at the bar.” The comment hung limp and stale in the space between us.
“Thereason is simple. When I spend too muchtime at home, I am tempted far too often to knit.”
“I’msure.”
“Really,I’m not kidding. It is either the bar orknitting. I can’t stop myself. Socks, mittens, scarves, hats, perhaps asweater, but not often I assure you, not often indeed.”
Blanksilence, utter black void silence.
“Visitsto the bar keep me from knitting more than I can wear over the course of agiven winter.”
Continuedsilence.
“Okay. I admit I can’t knit. Sue me.” I said. You looked at me, eyespinned to mine, and it was then, just at that moment I realized you were drunk.
“Howlong have you waited for him?”
“Justabout all night.”
Ilooked at you, seeing what you saw, your hair a blonde mess on your head, eyestired and alcohol red, all the while you shifted nervous to watch people exit,enter the bar, hoping the next person to be him.
“Perhapshe became engaged in a heated game of bocce.”
Youlaughed, a bit nervous, but you laughed. Got you!
“You’refunny.”
“Thanks.” I said.
“No,really. You make me laugh and it is notoften I am humored.”
“Toobad. I will make you laugh.”
“I’dlike that.” You said.
Iwoke the next morning still clutching the napkin upon which you scribbled yournumber, still wondering if he ever made an appearance, something Idoubted. I have been known to loose timeand place during a heated game of bocce ball. You have to allow for a moment, the moment. At certain moments we get caught and certaintimes we don’t.
Andso, I called you, or rather, left messages on your machine. You did not answer. It is okay with me, I am content to leavemessages. The day you answered, a bitsurprised to hear from me so soon as you said, I’ll admit to being drunk andcan’t be held responsible for comments such as, ‘Why didn’t you call me? Where were you last night?’
Iquite understand if you miss a few phone calls or fail to get back to me withina week or two. What is a week or twoover the span of a lifetime? It is ablink, a wink, a mite of dust in time’s eye, nothing more. I forgive you for not calling and I agreewith your point about not calling too often, for it might disturb yourroommate. I shall not call more oftenthan once a week. I will place a signnext to my phone.
“Donot call this week!” Will that suityou? That is what I will do, yes. The thing about it that bothers me, when willI know to call? I mean, you know I get alittle confused, which week will I call? I’ll see the sign and think I shouldn’t call. Each and every day the sign will remind meand in my confuseion I’ll never be sure if I called you in any given week, soin your words, ‘Err on the side of caution. If you are not sure, DON’T CALL!’
Iagree with you and not to beleaguer the point, I will say that I know you needyour space. Why should you see me eachmonth? Why should I ask so much ofyou? Am I crazy? Why must I expect you to see me every singledamn month? It is very unfair of me, buthonesty I must say that if you’re to be my wife, connected with eternal bonds(chains, chains, and chains) we will have to see each other a few times a year,for the sake of propriety. What will Itell mother when she asks about you, that I haven’t seen you that year? I think you will agree, we must for the sakeof outward show see each other three or four times a year. I know your demanding schedule might makethree visits over a course of a given year difficult, but can’t we compromiseon this issue? I’ll bend on sleepingarrangements and small issues of the like, but three visits a year is a must.
Onthat note, do I need to place a placard on my calendar?
“Notmy month to visit.” I will consider thepoint further.
Thisbrings me to my final point. How are weto ever get to know one another if we talk once a month and see each otherthree times a year? I’ve spent much timeconsidering the point; time, time, time, dawdling and milling about broken piazzas,looking for volcanic love, never to find a scant hint of evidence that itexists, only to find- You! Time wastedthinking when I should be writing (things, things, things) letters to you! Time working, paying bills, evenings withfriends? No! All my evenings should be free, free ofwriting, drinking, partying, and going to readings, free of all! What if the night I choose to party indeedwas one of our three visits during the year? I then will receive two visits that year. That is not acceptable. I will keep my schedule, the entire year freeof outside forces in case that night, any night, any one of the three hundredand sixty five days might be the one I see you. What business do I have with a schedule? My life truly revolves around you!
Inother news.
TheRed sox trail the Yankees by two games.
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