I woke up today sick as hell. Probably my body just couldn't handle something as normal as cheese. But it felt spiritual. I laid here sick at dawn trying to figure it. One thing he'd said didn't ring true. And that's how I am now, a touchy bell.
So I sent the exgirlfriendmistresswhatever my phone number. I dunno, I am a writer, I figured : what's your story? And I went back to bed, curled around my exploding guts until late afternoon. Later, "a few jello shots in", she called me.
(Insert Faulkner's here.)
I was right about the mother-in-law, and the father-in-law too in his dimmer way. Both a couple of turbo psychopath betrayal perfectionists. In the story this will be, the parents of the woman's husband are quaintly *depraved*.
In real life, will Aaron be able to leave a lifetime of lie-trained? Will he able to learn when he is lying to himself before he winds up getting others to buy into a Brooklyn Bridge he's selling to himself? It will be an extremely daunting task to learn that, certainly the hardest of his life... (The tattoo was a dead on good guess on my part - what is REAL? Chances are you'll know it if it hurts some, fyi.)
And in real life, what am I doing? Am I teaching him to own the truth or am I learning to lie to myself? I think I am trying to salvage what real love there is out of this rubble pile of damage. But what if I'm not doing that? Then what I may find I've been doing is to drink in the dregs, soak in all I'm able, put my arms around him while I can, as if going back to before all this time-machine style to savor the lasts in a way you only would if you knew it were the lasts. Last hugs, last smiles, your last day on earth.
