Evening Constitution

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The problem, you see, is she really is mostly right. She has a point, a great point, but how would it be for me simply to admit that? The whole system would fall apart, everything I’ve built and worked for, the very foundation of our relationship would crumble into a pile of rubble and refuse, you know. Birds would no longer sing, the sky would be gray, the shine of the sun would be diminished. Wailers would mourn, and dirges sung.

Alright, maybe not. But still, I wouldn’t be happy about it all. What does one do when suddenly one is confronted with the Truth in its barest forms, Truth that speaks not only to the present and future, but also the past, a past that cannot be changed? Even worse is when so suddenly and clearly one realizes the perspective of literally everyone about one’s own being and soul, and realizing this perspective is totally different than the self-perception depended on for years.

What does one do? One takes a walk, leaves, you know what I mean. One begins to analyze the situation in some kind of neutral terms, keeping the “I’s” and “me’s” out of the conversation, so still retaining control over the concepts. One doesn’t figure oneself out, one figures out a topic or generalization. Honestly, though, it is not ‘one’s’ problem. It’s mine, you know. And she’s right about it, it is the problem. But what can I do now? I can’t go to bed tonight and simply wake up a new person, fresh and clean, unstained by my own contributions to myself.

The easy thing, of course, would be to make it her problem. Confront her with some of her issues so that the conversation is changed from me to her. She’s self-conscious enough to probably let me, and I know just the thing that could make me become the comforter rather than the topic.

“You know Mandy, you remind me of your mother.”

It’ll bring her down to my level, keeping her from being the high moral voice of wisdom discussing the faults which I seem to display to the world. That is my instinct, of course. It was on the tip of my tongue, I had it all worked out in my mind. Sure it was unformed, but like a chess game engaged, I knew exactly how the game needed to be played.

But I didn’t do it. The moment passed. I decided not to turn the conversation into my own personal playing field. Instead, I walked out. Real mature action, I know. What is the response of the caring and wise? Leaving. Somehow I don’t think that is going to be found in any of the books on the subject.

But what she said really got into my soul somehow. Which is odd. It is not like she said anything I hadn’t heard before. Why did it just hit me this time?

It is nice out tonight, you know. This gave me an excuse to get out, so almost makes the conversation, or lack of it, worthwhile. It has been far too long since I did anything without a specific purpose or goal, and just let the breeze blow in my hair. I wonder why the stars are so bright tonight. There seems to be a lot more of them then I’m used to seeing. I guess the moon hasn’t come up yet, maybe that’s it. Really beautiful though, seeing all those bright spots of light. Incredible, really, the distance that light has to travel, the violence that happens in order to cause that light. Why is it interesting? I don’t know. Maybe it simply is some profound revelation that we are not alone in this world, or at least we aren’t as important as we think we are.

The real question now is what kind of bird is that who would be singing at this time in the evening. Don’t birds go to bed? Aren’t birds early risers, to get the early worm, or something like that? Why is that one so happy right now, singing away as if he didn’t have a care in this world? I wonder if he is the kind of bird that the other birds always talk about. “I wish that Fred would just go to sleep at night, and quite that infernal singing.” Do his neighbors complain? Who exactly would birds complain to? Maybe there is some kind of neighborhood forum where birds could lodge their complaints about any disturbances or needed repairs.

I would bet those mourning doves are in charge. They seem the most judicious and patient. The crows are smarter of course, but they’re the ones that get the most complaints, and always tie up the proceedings with their attempts at a defense, bringing it witnesses, arguing minutiae, saying how it was the fault of their upbringing or neighborhood. Gotta hate those crows, always tying up the meetings and keeping everyone there for much longer than need be. The sparrows are much too flighty to care about anyone else. Flighty. Ha, that was a good one. Sparrows are flighty… I’m funny.

So what can I say? Should I just tell her she was right, and humbly ask how to work things out? Should I ask her to expand on her comments? I don’t know if I could handle it. I would likely have to make some kind of changes. I like who I am, I don’t want to change. People should just get used to me, and figure me out for themselves, and not make me become someone I’m not. I don’t make them change, though they certainly have some things I certainly would like to change if I had that power. Who are they to tell me I’ve got issues? I’m the best of the bunch.

Now why would someone have a house like that but leave the yard in this kind of shape. I bet cleaned up this place would go for a lot of money. It’s like the people don’t even care. Maybe there’s some kind of mystery or terrible story. The sick old woman inside hasn’t had a visitor for years, except for the guy who comes weekly to deliver her groceries. He is polite, and she tips well, but he doesn’t like to talk much because she’s so strange, and smells funny. Of course she’s strange, you idiot, no one visits her, and she’s alone with her TV and her cats, because of course she has cats. It would make anyone strange. I bet those cats are looking at me now. Part of me wants to go and knock on the door, and see what I can do to help out. Not a big part of me, really. Honestly, not even a small part of me. Kind of a miniscule part of me that likes to suggest things I should be doing with myself. Maybe their lawnmower is broke.

Anyway… she’s right, you know. It hit me, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to reason my way out of this one. It never quite works when one realizes self-rationalizing. It takes some of the fun and freedom out of it all. Ignorance is bliss, though not for the others who have to deal with a blissful ignoramus, I guess. That’s the point now. I better call.

“Hello,” she answers, knowing it’s me. What does she mean by this, is she waiting for me to say something profound, or angry, or conciliatory? Well, here it goes…

“Hey.”

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