I guarantee that eventually, if you read enough, you will guess what comes next. You’re going to think I’m a telepath because I scramble your brain and you end up being able to read my mind. Just wait for it. (…dary.)
Deli Man, stop asking me what I do outside of the store. I baked a vanilla cake, dude. And I made vanilla frosting. And in order to make said cake, I needed fake milk, which I only had a tiny little bit of left, so I had to go to the store (again.) It was in the name of cake. (Death or cake?!)
Alright, so now you know God cares whether or not I’m cold. Great! But do you know what it’s like to hear ideas in my head that come from an external source, no matter how divine it might be? It was disturbing, in a word. Wouldn’t you be disturbed?! I was.
But not enough for anyone eavesdropping on my brain to know it, apparently. After those million words and a bunch of shenanigans with God, He convinced me (or was She a She in that moment? I can’t remember) that I was mind reading. I don’t think I was… I think God was spoon feeding me whatever He wanted me to believe to keep me going. I felt like I was placed on a Spirit Quest. I was looking for my sacred path. I think I found it, but man is it a rocky one.
But was that enough? Convincing Crystal that she was telepathic? NOPE. He threw my fucking job away on me and tossed me into the pond. I’m still watching the ripples settle.
Anyway, I have two or three twats in my head pretending to be all the dudes ever(TM) that I pass by. I swear once in a while, I do hear a stray thought. It has nothing to do with dudes (spoiler alert.) I’m not boy crazy, but the boys in my head are. How does that even work? Are they gay? I know one of them is… and in great denial about it, too, but the other one? The one I proposed to? I didn’t think so… until God told me he was.
In fact, God’s rationale is very body positive. Are you ready for it, kiddies?
If a man doesn’t like a woman because she’s fat, he’s gay. A real man loves a woman no matter what size she is. And then He told me that about 7 billion people on Earth are gay. That’s a lot of confused people, I gotta say.
I gotta level with you, folks. God’s not a native English speaker. Man, it was stilted and awkward at first. In fact, I thought he might’ve been some entity in outer space, you know the kind that might walk upon the surface of another planet, speaking brain to brain with me. He convinced me I was going to be dissected alive if I told anyone what I was going through. Then we had a bit of a role-play about how the spacelings were the ones to come get me and dissect me (after I gave them telepathy, too, of course, because I discovered it in the moment that I died and God brought me back to life, like a capricious child.)
Stop it with your delusions of grandeur bullshit. I didn’t believe him.
I’m just telling you what I experienced. You should withhold your judgment until the very end, at least. It might take me all the rest of the year to tell you all about it, though. So embrace the hygge of your region: grab something cozy that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside and settle in for the story of a lifetime. I encourage you to suspend your disbelief until the very end, just like I did.
I wouldn’t say I believe in God, by the way. He sure believes in me, but I don’t sit around worshiping him. He doesn’t want that, anyway. Sorry, She. She swapped gender on me again just now. She doesn’t want you to get too comfortable with any gender since you’re stupid enough to think that means your gender is the superior gender. SPOILER ALERT… we are equal. Different but equal.
Anyway, God’s been helping me undo a spinal injury I’d picked up at the age of 19 with a variety of stretches and single-muscle exercises, one by one. It’s painstaking, but it’s working to get me out of pain. I’d been in pain for two decades. (Thanks, Dr. Steve, for helping me. The physical therapy was golden and I stopped too soon, sadly.)
She’s the one instructing me on how to do yoga (a la Dr. Steve’s brain) and doing her best to keep me from killing myself. I’ve decided to suicide over 300 times since the third Kundalini attunement and yet I’m still here. Miracles, I suppose. It’s too bad the assholes in my head want me dead rather than alive. And why? Because they can’t have me. “If I can’t have her, no one will!” Sound familiar to any of you assholes? STOP KILLING PEOPLE WITH YOUR BAD BRAIN.
BAD BRAIN. DOWN BOY!
I’ve been defeating these voices slowly over time, but they still trick me from time to time. Today, all day, they’ve been making up The Deli Man’s reaction to The Incident(TM). I make it sound mysterious, but really all it was is that we made eye contact. Previous to said eye contact, the idiots I’ve been warring with had been trying to completely sabotage me by making me miserable. They were just celebrating that he wasn’t even there that day when I saw him somewhere unexpected because the timing was off.
God feels quite triumphant for winning this round of Is It Flirting(TM)? In fact, that preoccupies BenjaNick all day every day, trying to dream up what this singular man might think or do, making it seem like his world revolves around me… rando patron of Wegmans. All because of what? He complimented my choker once. That’s what.
I was just reminding them that complimenting someone on something they’re wearing is not the same as liking them. I ooze compliments when I’m well, doling them out as if they were free. Oh, wait. They are.
It can’t hurt someone to give them a compliment. Not in my mind, anyway. I like to think of myself as someone distributing positive vibes everywhere possible, leaving a wake of positivity(TM). So these goons in my head make up stuff like he wants to dance with me! and so on. He’s got quite the robust personality, I must say, for someone I’ve yet to even say hello to.
It’s my fault I haven’t, though. I must confess, I saw him in the middle of the aisle last week some time. I walked right by him, wordless. I was… unprepared. You know what being autistic is like? Wait, you probably don’t… Autism is only 13% of Earth’s population right now. Okay, I’ll tell you… I get lost in my thoughts, thinking about things like cosmic cartography, a poem I co-wrote one time in the distant past. I think about things like writing game content. I think about things like sugar free vanilla frosting. I think about the music playing inside the store, too, usually at the same time. I think about the food I’m walking past, some of it calling my name and looking like a great date for the night.
And then I see the man and I’m like… uh… my brain shut off.
Now how the hell am I supposed to come up with conversation with my brain in the off position?
I can’t.
I just walk by.
Angel-Sansara 