Paranoid Paradigm #1  By  W. Bruce Watson
     The phone went dead on the third ring. Somewhere out there at the end of this wire, serenity. Would she hold me one more time? The weight of our time apart pressed into my hand and against my ear. Suddenly through the hiss and hum, female voices...

      "What were they talking about then?"
      "Oh. About his being a bastard, man-stuff, women, especially about women."
      "What did they say about us?"
      "Oh. The usual, T and A, that stuff."
      "Anything else?"
      "Not really."

     "I'd heard they cursed our changeability, our symmetrical thinking so different from theirs. They speculated about the impossibility of any eventual reconciliation. And then they began to guess at the real cause of the divergence."

      "Well, yes. Yes. They did do that."
      "At length?
      "Yes. Yes, quite a bit."
      "Do they suspect?"
      "I think they do. One does."

     "Why did you withhold this fact? You know how serious this is. Why the reluctance?"

     "I was afraid for him. What will happen now?"

      "Oh, the usual, shut-him-out-cut-him-off-pass-the-word."
      "Can't it wait a little longer?"
      "No, it can't. It never has. Why should it now?"...
      Why, indeed? As the voices faded, I could once again hear the phone ringing at the other end.
      "Hello," she said.
      "Hi," I announced, "it's only me again," and hung up.
The truth is, after much furrowing of brow, I can't think of anything to say by way of preface to my blog. Along the way I wondered what it's purpose might be and maybe I should say a few words about that and would, except that I don't know what its purpose is, or could be, or should be. I only know that my clock is winding down and I'm so desperate to have my mind known that I could just spit! Maybe my blog could be about that. But how depressing and pretentious that could be! But hold on a second, maybe not—my therapist commented the other day how in late adulthood (AKA elder years), one is forced to deal with the sense of loss, all the time, it's always there, and it's painful, it takes great faith to live on even though one knows it's going to end and that whatever they accomplish, if anything, is not going to matter all that much. How does one find meaning or a sense of fulfillment in life knowing that it’s coming to an end? Psychologists have not written much about this if anything. It's sort of an unexamined part of adult life. It takes a lot of self-discipline to function in spite of this sense of loss—it's so easy to give up on the constant struggle, on life. A lot of people do—drinking, TV, drugs, electrosex, So, if you'll bear with me, let us examine this unexamined part of adult life.
Copyright © 2011 W. Bruce Watson, Inc. All rights reserved.  
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