A Short Story
She liked speaking seldom used words, just to see the puzzled expressions on people’s faces when they heard them.
She occasionally enjoyed a cocktail before noon on the weekend, just to see the expression on her husband’s face.
She was fond of disagreeing with anything said when she was out with friends, no matter that she might be outed as a hypocrite if one pointed out to her that she believes in what’s she’s disagreeing with – just to crush their dreams of being right 24/7/365.
She never went to movie theaters because sitting for a couple of hours in other people’s leftover rot didn’t appeal to her.
She would occasionally take out a cigarette in a restaurant, pretend to fumble for a lighter to light it, even though she had never smoked, just to see the suppressed outrage on people’s faces.
She liked watching political news shows just to watch and laugh at how deeply depraved the human soul can be.
She enjoyed sex, but found it only appealing on Monday nights and Sunday afternoons.
She loved getting up in the middle of the night to write down the dream she just had, only to be thoroughly upset upon reading it the following morning.
She is completely satisfied to be a brunette – not blonde, not redhead, not any other variation – but she loves dying her a very light shade of gray.
10 years ago she believed in goodness of humanity. Today, she finds herself fantasizing that there is, somewhere, a time machine that will transport her to a more suitable and saner era.
Her husband thinks he’s a good lover, no matter the number of times she’s explained to the contrary. She now understands what cognitive dissonance truly means.
She loves her family, but has found that seeing them every two years, in time intervals of 3 hours and not a minute more, leads to her loving them more.
At 45 years of age, she still cannot understand why she prefers food to sex, yet a few seconds after thinking such a thing, remembering a meal she had at a 5 start restaurant, or of a home cooked meal she prepared, she understands it completely.
And at 45 years, she has found her tolerance of those believing in their own bullshit to be intolerable.
She devotes a couple of minutes of thinking about the future her children will experience as a result of the demons of the day’s offerings – and upon further reflection of what they will face is so upsetting that she spends the rest of the day researching armored redoubts.
She is lost, yet found. She has a spirit of the ‘old ones’, yet fully understands how detached, not just from reality, but from being human most of the world is.
She loves reading Voltaire but never shares her interest in him with any other human, simply because no one she knows has heard of him.
And those words she likes to use, seldom expressed, just to see another’s expression:
“Daft” if the one foremost in her mind.
And sadly, she concludes, nearly all are completely daft believers in their own bullshit.
An overload of jive, an overload of lies, an overload of nonsense people believe without a hint of investigation that any of their jive offered is actually true.
The intolerant elite of the era, the political bastards – casting innocents into into fields of lies, illness and death, into piss holes of mental and physical torture, into pits of poverty they’ll never climb out of – all from the their demented offerings of everything unnatural, for power, control and money – what has lead one civilization after another throughout history to their demise, she will resist until her dying breath.
And so, she closes her journal, sets her pen down and takes a deep breath, thinking of her spiritual friend her mother told her she would have all her life – her good angel – asking for more love, if for nothing else but to be able to love more.
“And to every man has been assigned a good and an evil angel; one assisting him and the other annoying him, from his cradle to his coffin.” ―
Tonight’s musical offering: