I’m pretty much numb with old emotion right now. Have you ever heard of Ralphing? It’s a super painful massages series where you basically have your muscle fascicles separated forcibly with a trained massage person’s elbow, and the whole process makes you release all the unnatural holding patterns and emotional tension from your whole life.
Apparently you cry a lot when you have it done. I had a friend get Ralphed a long time ago. He got all quivery and emotional for quite a while during the process. I’m not sure if he finished the course of sessions (they’re stretched out over weeks to help you cope with the emotional turmoil and physical pain).
Anyway, I’m doing the slow, much gentler version of that process using internal visualization and emotional triggers in my automatic nervous system. It’s gross and painful, but I don’t have people shoving their elbows in my body. ‘Cause that’s just, you know, more gross and painful.
I knew a woman a long time ago who deliberately targeted pregnant woman and young mothers. She was a nasty piece of humanity and tried, usually with pretty good success, to stall and retard the normal development of emotional bonding in her victims.
She was also a professional labor assistant, so that’s awful.
Isn’t it interesting that we can simultaneously hold in our minds the fact that predatory, conscienceless evil people exist, and then go about and give literally everyone the benefit of the doubt?
I say, treat people as if they’re good, suspect them of being horribly evil (in order to keep your guard up), and then make judgments over time about their actual character, based on their behavior in a variety of emotionally taxing circumstances.
Some more Diana
The Changed Note
Diana read the new note. This time it was printed in lime green Papyrus font.
Confused? Say yes if confused. We provide diorama, it would present illustrative sample.
Diana looked up at the clear blue sky.
“No,” she said loudly, shaking her head in a negative motion.
“What are you–are you talking to them? What does this one say?” Stuart exclaimed, darting down to snatch the note from her hands. Diana stood up and watched Stuart’s lips move as he read the note.
“Your aliens don’t punctuate correctly. That should have been a semicolon,” Diana observed.
“They aren’t my aliens, Di,” Stuart muttered, tugging at either side of the note and glaring at the lime green font.
“Oh, Stu,” Diana said, her mouth curling with wicked fun. The more upset Stuart became, the happier Diana felt.
“Why’d you say no? I want a diorama. Hey! Yes! We need help, yes!” Stuart called, standing up and glaring at the sky.
“Nope! No help! We’re good,” Diana said with a merry wave at the empty sky.
“Shut up, Di,” Stuart hissed.
“Keep blushing, Stu. I’m sure they’re waiting for you to declare your passionate love for me. I understood the first note. Didn’t you?” Diana asked, bending down and examining the metal backpack.
“No, I didn’t! And stop calling me Stu!” Stuart exclaimed, glaring expectantly at the sky.
“Sweetie, they aren’t going to listen to you. I’m pretty sure they like me,” Diana said, locating a manner of button and wrestling with it.
Stuart glared at Diana. She could feel the heat of his hatred sizzling against the back of her neck, and she smiled. Ah, revenge, Diana thought, and she found that she was almost looking forward to whatever messy and unfortunate end would be coming her way after the aliens were finished watching them fight.
Diana was pretty sure she could stretch the fight out for a while, though, and she was delighted to see and hear Stuart’s obvious fear of the aliens as he alternated between muttering at her and studying the empty sky.
“Oh, look. Nasty bits of food. That was thoughtful of them. Do you need me to explain what the aliens want, Stuart?” Diana asked, stretching out the latter half of Stuart’s name in a way she knew from experience would make him furious.
Diana had never been this bold before in riling him up, because he’d never had anything holding him back from coming after her. The aliens seemed to have cowed him to the point that he was almost defanged, metaphorically speaking, and Diana felt positively gleeful at the prospect of winding him up deliberately.
You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current book, a couple of people are secretly planning to get married while openly pretending to hate each other, which is fun.