Mime and Reality

Mime and Reality

I took up writing a few years ago as an aid in combating suicidal urges. As it turned out, a large number of people didn't like my particular style of writing. They pointed out that my essays and even so-called fictional pieces all focused on three topics: myself, my life, and my "profound" personal, meandering private thoughts. In response, I took a sabbatical for two days from writing and reflected on the accusation of self-absorption. And I concluded that my critics were right. One woman was especially harsh in her "criticism". She often screamed, shouted, screeched, and sometimes susurrated  that my penchant of writing about myself was evident that I was suffering from a pathology of some kind. I replied to her that we were all sick, some were more than others. To live is to fight against infection, literally and metaphorically. And we all play doctors. It would be better and less jarring to everybody's sensibilities if we all learned to focus on our own maladies and pay less attention to somebody else's. That was why I chuckled, chortled, crackled, and cried out in exasperation when a certain very sick individual intimated that I was sick!  Dumb and insensitive folks tend to look outward and have no conception of introspection. They don't have good vision, literally. A very ugly and short and fat woman had a gall and a gumption to self-declare that she ain't none of the above. She must have not been exposed to a mirror all her entire life. Humans have a tendency to think highly of themselves so they gathered all the crumbs and morsels of dignity and self-esteem they had their hands on and feel good about themselves. I suppose false pride is better than inferiority complex. A guy who, in my estimation and judgment and without any doubt on my part, is a liar and a phony and a braggart, actually thinks he is modest and truthful. I have played along with him in a farcical construction he called friendship. 

The long drive across the country helped me refine my thinking of many issues. I recalled long ago a woman who professed to love me but called me childish. I laughed when she said that, but inside a flood of memories rushed back. True, raw romantic feelings are always childish to some extent. To love is to render oneself vulnerable, to go back in time and look for and recapture those childhood memories involving the primordial feelings of love and protection. To really love somebody is to re-enact a certain parent-child relationship. The woman missed the point. That was when I knew she didn't love anybody but herself. I am calm and serene but wistful and cynical. I need to focus on making money and taking of my health.

(to be continued)