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What Was The Name of Mr. Roger's Trolley?
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So I hit, maybe not a homerun but I much needed three base hit in this week's journal exercise for class. We had to do one of those--someone starts the story, next person adds on, next one adds more, and so on. I was not looking forward to the exercise. I am a traditional writer therefore not a team player. I was sweating it out, delaying, knowing I had to write something by leaving time on Friday. At the last minute I dove in. The person before made some allusion to an 80s chick and I ran with it and made the character a trashy Dolly Parton who was sweet then violent. And she wanted something (but I didn't say what). That's all I wrote and it was feeling kind of generic. Every writer thereafter, and there were 10, kept colorizing my character and the conflict, also without ever answering it. They referenced this outrageous TV character and that's pretty much what I was seeing, too, when I created her. No one tried to answer what she was after but made it the central mystery. I know I did good in their eyes, perhaps with the prof, too, because I had this huge 1.0 point that I never had before next to my entry. Here's what is scary about this bit of triumph: I don't like the outrageous. Mystery sucks, too. I'm not a campy writer. I like the psychological and real and I was just trying to get the assignment done and not totally suck. I walked away wondering if I would cringe when they read my part in class. What is considered good writing makes me very nervous. Anyway, Julian never called...figures. We had a huge snowstorm this weekend. More snow than we had in years. There is a wall of snow outside my house from the plowing and the drifting. I thought I would never dig my car out. I've had alot of M thoughts, even though there is no new mystery to unravel (okay I do like a good psychological mystery!). Just separating the real from the fantasy some more. I decided it is like getting into very imaginative play as a child, with one person dominating the storyline, though having that fluctuate in subtle ways. What ever brings you out of that play except boredom or outside influences? With him, there were neither and I would have never left his magical kingdom (where he was ruler of course). Only he wanted to make me stick around for my own beheading so I had to yell and huff--- "I quit!!!" Only later did I realize how artificial that world was. It seemed so believable. The best kind of reality even if it was all illusion.
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Not Sure Brought Me Back To This Carousel
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For a long time, I could foresee what would be a resolution with Mark according to my terms. I knew it was completely unrealistic, verging on the impossible, but I still had those terms. It included apologizing and a long conversation where we never might see eye to eye, yet would try to understand each other. It included a check, with interest was best and most heartfelt, but the full amount of what he owed me was all that I required. Then it was topped off with some sort of acknowledgement that I was the best. So narcissistic of me! Or some honest, uplifting praise that he never managed to say in all the time I worked for him. Okay, total fiction the resolution scene I scripted. But in that scenario, I could start all over with him and do the unthinkable, work with him again. These days I'm thinking there isn't anything he could do to make that happen. I would concede a part-time basis possibility except that he could never be happy with that. Not now. Not with our history. While there is a part of me that will always be mournful of all that job was that normal jobs could never be (the intrigue, excitement, collusion, DRAMA, intensity, fantasy, and on and on), there is no turning back. Not when his cover has been blown. Not when I feel the danger that is inherent in being anywhere near him. Let me just say, I'm wondering about the money, too. I should be able to take it any way I can get it since it is owed. Yet, there is no way I would play his bullshit power and control games for that "prize". I don't even think I would take on a heap of insults and a presentation of him being super magnanimous to get it, which is the best possible scenario if I was to be realistic. I would want it only in the way he can't give it, with apology and acknowledgement. No strings. Of course, he isn't standing before dangling the money in my face, which still represents alot. Like a downpayment on a car kind of alot. My mettle would take on the proverbial test. Still, I'm kind of inching away from wanting that. In a way, I get happy when I think of how I turned down his paltry settlement and how it didn't end up being some comprised amount. Because he can live with his betrayal. Some sort of settlement would indicate a resolution, some agreement, a fair deal. Fuck that! He screwed me over and to this day, I still can scream in his face about that if I have to. Anyway, I feel myself changing viewpoints. I will always long for some aspects of that office, but I don't want to be back there. That money feels tainted, like something I would prefer to throw in his face and scream about and rip into shreds in front of him and stomp on with my feet, all because it represents how I was never special in his eyes when I should have been. I feel sorry for Mark, too. He will never see. No matter what letter I write. No matter how many different people tell him. You need to end up an enemy with him because otherwise he loses your attention forever. He could never have that. So he has admirers and enemies and nothing in between. Lovers and haters. No one ever has neutral feelings toward him. Makes me want to do just that...even if it would only be outwardly. Except then I become like him, a facade.
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