Doin' The Mess Around

Discussion in 'Blogs' started by jjl, Aug 6, 2016.

  1. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I suppose you think I should thank you, for showing me.
    I can't believe it was that easy.
    At first, I could not understand why people were so stupid. But now I understand.
    Stupidity is as instinctive as hunger and thirst.
    Without we will die.
    It's a funny dichotomy, isn't it? The desperate need for ignorance twins the ravaging thirst to know?
    No wonder everyone gets it so wrong.

    YOu knew it would ruin sleep forever for me.
    I know it did for you.
    I see your skype blink on even when you have signed off, at all of the odd hours that I am awake.
    Restless aren't you?
    So why don't we speak?
    YOu obviously thought the sleepless state would be useful to someone or you would not have laid it on me.
    The need to know.
    The NEED to know.
    THE NEED.
    A drive stronger than sex.
    You can't un-know it once you've seen it.
    And you can't stop watching from behind the splayed fingers that you try to cover your eyes with.
    But go ahead and stay silent.
    I don't think I can bear to hear any more.

    P.S. Compasses are so subjective, aren't they?
     
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    Last edited: Sep 21, 2016
  2. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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  3. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    The detective slid a legal notepad and a pen over the table to me.
    "Tell me again," he said. "Write it down."
     
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  4. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I picked up the pen and pad and leaned back into the metal folding chair.
    Uncomfortable, I propped my knees against the table and held the yellow pad in my lap while my pen scratched along the paper.
    The detective watched my scarred knees with interest.
    Finally satisfied, I sat up, tore the page from the pad and slid it back to him.
     
    Last edited: Oct 16, 2016
  5. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    [​IMG]
     
    Last edited: Sep 23, 2016
  6. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I used to hate loneliness, I thought. Now it's the only way I can stay safe.
    It was so much easier when I thought I was fucking crazy.
    I sighed deeply. Might as well get on with it.
    I stood up.
    "Well?"
     
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    Last edited: Oct 16, 2016
  7. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    HIs eyes lit with fury.
    "Get out," he hissed.
    As the door was closing, I heard a mutter.
    "Don't think that you and I are through."
     
    Last edited: Oct 16, 2016
  8. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I limped out of the station and down the steps to where they were holding my car. It seemed miles away, but I was glad enough that they did not charge me for that privilege.
    I heaved myself into my sixteen-year-old Toyota and checked the gas gauge as I turned her on.
    The electronic needle indicated the tank was at half.
    I laughed out loud.
    After today, which was it?
    Half full?
    Or half empty?
     
    Last edited: Sep 23, 2016
  9. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I pulled the car away.
    I tried to organize the sequence of events in my mind.
    Really, I wondered, How long has this been going on?
    It began to dawn on me that I've had these odd notions about my environment since first awareness.
    After all of the"evaluations", (purportedly looking for some kind of childhood schizophrenia), and being mocked by my peers, I had learned to keep my mouth shut.
    It was bad enough to carry these concerns without being scoffed at for them.

    I downshifted and tapped my brake,slowly swerving around the cyclist in front of me.

    The trouble is
    , I thought, how do I separate fantasy from truth?

    I had always turned the whole incomprehensible mess into a sort of fairy tale, where I was both Victim and Hero.
    The Blueblood Princess.
     
    Last edited: Oct 16, 2016
  10. jjl

    jjl hhotah hhotah

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    I slam on the brake to avoid hitting a second cyclist.
    Holy shit, I wonder. How many times have I crossed a border, carrying someone else's gear or gifts to avoid taxes, relieve weight or luggage restrictions?
    Funny. My companions stopped asking me to lug their excess when the airport security started asking that question:
    Did someone other than yourself pack this luggage for you?



    What might I have smuggled, crossing the border as a kid?
     
    Last edited: Oct 16, 2016