Once again, I'm being asked to forgive an entity who really only exists as a phantom to me. For the SECOND TIME this has happened. And by the way, has anyone really asked me to forgive this person? Okay, it's more like a chess game in my mind, where this is my next move.
Okay, for the SECOND TIME, my move is to forgive someone I've never even met, may never even meet, who may not even exist in the form that I imagine they exist in. Okay, see, Vlacav Havel was an Absurdist playwrite. Right? I'm not familiar with his work at all, but maybe this is an example of an Absurdist plot. Maybe it's not Absurdist, but just absurd.
This totally reminds me of the time in 1988 when Sara busted the "What a weirdo! God, what a weirdo!" move and then became frightened when I wheeled around and glowered at her and blurted to her a question about the papers due in the class. Look at the blog post, "I'm not bad," from January 2016 for that story.
That whole incident was far far better than any dustup I'd ever been in with someone before then, such as the crude sexual proposition I made to Wanda in her car one night, or the attempt to lose my virginity in my truck in 1984 with a girl I call Katy in my books.
The next class after that incident, several women in there kind of let me know they would give me a break on that one. Many times over the years I'd wished I'd taken advantage of that supposed opportunity, but that would have just been cruel to Sara, and at the time that was not in my nature to be that way.
Now, it's like that Jack Smith performance piece that Tommy Lanigan-Schmidt told me about. Jack tells the audience of the times that his mother would lock him in the closet and go out for the day. In the piece he went on and on and on with, "and there I stood in the closet just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting ,and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and god! Doing nothing but waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting,..." and He would go on for quite a while, symphonically building to the climax of the story where his mother would finally get home and, "She would open the closet and hug me and kiss my cheek and all over my face and say how sorry she was and she would take me over to the table and pull out this big bag of candy and spread out all the pieces on the table and she would pick out one piece and give it to me and keep the rest for herself!"
How do I know this person is not going to do the same thing they did when I forgave them the first time?
That whole incident with Sara was just as formative for me as losing my virginity, and maybe even more formative, because the circumstances that led to my losing my virginity are pretty much a product of their time, while the incident with Sara and all that led up to it and all that followed comprise a well that I still draw water from to this day.
Okay, for the SECOND TIME, my move is to forgive someone I've never even met, may never even meet, who may not even exist in the form that I imagine they exist in. Okay, see, Vlacav Havel was an Absurdist playwrite. Right? I'm not familiar with his work at all, but maybe this is an example of an Absurdist plot. Maybe it's not Absurdist, but just absurd.
This totally reminds me of the time in 1988 when Sara busted the "What a weirdo! God, what a weirdo!" move and then became frightened when I wheeled around and glowered at her and blurted to her a question about the papers due in the class. Look at the blog post, "I'm not bad," from January 2016 for that story.
That whole incident was far far better than any dustup I'd ever been in with someone before then, such as the crude sexual proposition I made to Wanda in her car one night, or the attempt to lose my virginity in my truck in 1984 with a girl I call Katy in my books.
The next class after that incident, several women in there kind of let me know they would give me a break on that one. Many times over the years I'd wished I'd taken advantage of that supposed opportunity, but that would have just been cruel to Sara, and at the time that was not in my nature to be that way.
Now, it's like that Jack Smith performance piece that Tommy Lanigan-Schmidt told me about. Jack tells the audience of the times that his mother would lock him in the closet and go out for the day. In the piece he went on and on and on with, "and there I stood in the closet just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting ,and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and god! Doing nothing but waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting,..." and He would go on for quite a while, symphonically building to the climax of the story where his mother would finally get home and, "She would open the closet and hug me and kiss my cheek and all over my face and say how sorry she was and she would take me over to the table and pull out this big bag of candy and spread out all the pieces on the table and she would pick out one piece and give it to me and keep the rest for herself!"
How do I know this person is not going to do the same thing they did when I forgave them the first time?
That whole incident with Sara was just as formative for me as losing my virginity, and maybe even more formative, because the circumstances that led to my losing my virginity are pretty much a product of their time, while the incident with Sara and all that led up to it and all that followed comprise a well that I still draw water from to this day.
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