July 8th, 2024 - Opening Theory
Dear TNY,
I know I’m doing them out of order (but I think this one is last, maybe?), so now I have finished “Opening Theory”.
For all the tension, of which this story has plenty, I think most of it was eroded by the interiority on both characters’ parts. Ivan, in the beginning, was trapped by the author in his musings before the match, particularly around his “feelings”, or whatever you want to call them, for Margaret. And then, it seems, for about 2/3s of this piece, we switch to Margaret’s POV, and we get a host of fucking interiority, revealing that she was the protagonist all along.
But if we break down this story, from a narrative perspective, we see that it’s basically a dude playing chess against ten people, winning, going out for a drink with a few people from the event, getting a ride home with the woman who is supposed to get him around town, inviting her in, and then sleeping with her (and subsequently freeing her temporarily at least from her own internal shackles?). That narrative is excellent for a story that stays in scene, and this one should. It’s excellent because the scope is so narrow. The problem with the self-talk is that it derails the momentum this story gets going within that scope. While I appreciated a near complete lack of backstory, I felt like there wasn’t enough worthwhile information in the ruminating sections to matter. I think in this case, less would have been more regarding transcendence at the end. If you let me figure the shit out, fam, it will mean more to me. Just like it would you. When have you liked being told how to think? How to feel? What the answers are, to everything? Didn’t think so.
Yesterday (which is two days ago at this time of writing), when all these reviews were due, I was changing fluids out on my son’s new rig and it went well. Even though my knee is in the pain cave, I rolled around on the concrete and did the work anyway. Although, I did lean a little heavier on my boy to do some of the work, which is good for him anyway because he seems to be interested in understanding how to fix his own shit. Which is good, because this rig has gone through some neglect.
Anyway, I don’t know what else to say. Time is moving. Some days I feel apathetic about all this. Some days I feel exuberant. Some days are a wash and time wasted. And some days the world slows down just for me. That’s probably most everyone’s life. I was thinking about this summer and its level of boring that is unprecedented in my divorced summer adventures. And I felt like I was wasting it. Then I remembered the words of the wise, wizard of kindness: Try to remember that the biggest adventures most people go on are to the lake a couple hours from their house.
When I remember this, I realize I’ve banked enough adventure for 12 lifetimes. Not that that is a reason to stop. Just to be grateful for what has already happened. Like, yeah, don’t we all want to be banging out hot anal every fucking day (who knew that morning anal can be a thing!?)? Sure. But that doesn’t mean we need to throw a fit over the fact that we aren’t having it, even though it happened once, twice, or any other number of times before.
You guys think that way, right? The anal measuring stick? Yeah, you filthy cunts. Like Ivan and Margaret. I bet he rolled through her colon like Germany did Poland in ’39. And she loved it. And he loved it. Yeah, that’s the ticket, baby!
Honestly, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is how I think. I’m sorry this is all so hard for me. I’m sorry that I have to lean on you to listen. I’m sorry I exist. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. You and I have been doing this since 2018. That’s the third longest relationship I have ever been in. Chuck is the second. Actually, guys, Chuck is now the first. My ex wife is the second. My van has outpaced a human. Either way, you don’t, and no one does, deserve this. It’s apparent that I should dig a shallow one in a secret spot and disappear. That is how the world makes me feel. Like there’s no reason for me to keep going. I said to the therapist, after he told me in absolutely the plainest language possible, that I am doing it right, that the line I’m on, the way I see us, this whole thing, that I’m living…LIVING...and that it will feel alone almost always because of that. But he encouraged me to keep going because I shouldn’t let the ignorance of humanity stop me from getting closer to transcendence. I asked him why I’m being punished for doing the right things. And he said that’s one of the great ironies. But still, don’t stop, he said. What you are finding, what you see, and how you see it is magical. And the right thing.
So yeah, I’m a wizard. Isn’t that amazing? My heart is big enough. So very big. He said so himself. That I care so much. Love so much. Fuck, a woman I know from the way back once told me she thought I was an angel. And I want to stop. Breathing. Hurting. Stop trying. I want to fucking stop.
If you fucking disagree with that, ask yourself how a person like myself winds up thinking that! It is not and has never been all my fault! Why would I do this to myself? I’m in so much pain. I want to live. To be happy. To feel loved as well as give love. I want to take care of someone and be taken care of. I want to be as human to you as I feel to myself. Ask yourself, not even about me but about anyone else in your fucking life that feels like this, how did they end up like this? How did they get to the place that they are in where they are begging for reasons to stay here and no matter how hard you try they don’t see it. Maybe…listen.
I think about this scene from Bowling from Columbine a lot. It’s the interview with Marilyn Manson. And Michael Moore asks him, “If you were to talk directly to the kids at Columbine, the people in that community, what would you say to them if they were here right now?” And Manson said, “I wouldn’t say a single word to them, I would listen to what they have to say, and that’s what no one did.”
We could all stand to be a little more like that. Myself included.
Later.
Nick
