A Statement of Personal Confidence.

 

Over and above the times I've been asked to lift three or four false boxes into place--and there were so many times I can barely keep track--I always knew I had it in me. And this was no trick. The emblems are sitting right there; you can see them for yourself--heck, you can even touch them! I was being taught the intricacies of the 'braiding problem'. But for my inability to hold my breath for more than three seconds while perched in a room, everyone in our group has been told repeatedly not to second guess internal weather and its intricacies, both physical AND emotional. For my own part, the erasures come quite naturally. In fact, it's the only time of day when the bleeding stops of its own accord. Beyond that, I feel as if someone has handed me some kind of invisible icon of innate sensibleness. But, at that very moment, a heartbreaking incident from the recent past reared its not-so-pretty head in the form of a rather non-inconspicuous wastrel who once accompanied my Father, the late Reverend Estes Persklin on a Mission stunt in Communist Romania in October 1983.

What happened was, this stooge, who goes by Ijin Fomerk, was set to adjust one of the rapidly disintegrating control mechanisms which are alleged to keep out team on the up-and-up. He insisted on adding certain invisible colors to the transition mix, thereby enabling passing units to make the leap without a telltale incident. I knew that he was redolent of fraudulent bookbinding and that his successor was even worse, if you can imagine that. During those years, I always liked to keep myself fully vetted in the eyes of indigenous ice-sampling rectors. It was something which I normally thought about while on the john. In this particular incident, I noticed someone in a nearby holding facility had made it his business to pretend that he was about to send me a lukewarm signal-of-intent. I made like the 'normie' altar boy I still am at heart and got in touch with his parents through an unmotivated third party. This is when all the 'trouble' started. Because no sooner had I click 'send' on the email than a very 'moist' nurse who'd been on-staff for barely a few seconds at best burst in and started giving me the royal 'what-for'. Thus you can see that I had very little choice. There was just no way that I could go on living this kind of a lie. It all came out. Everything. And now look at me. You don't want to know. Why is that?

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