OK, this is gonna get depressing; so go have a good cry and then come back and read this … or remember to tell yourself to stop being such a baby.
Well, maybe this isn’t that depressing; but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.
There’s the way ‘the Union’ should be (i.e. my parents’ former-marriage [Mr. Super & Mrs. Betty Boop], the North American prime governmental-power, what “Ms. Teenage-SuperBooty” and I might plan to do in the back of her new car [if she saves up enough money for … ‘gas’] … whatever ‘Union’ it is you think I’m talking about), and then there’s the way the Union actually is (in which Mr. Boop has had to assume his maiden name [which incidentally rhymes], in which ‘prime governmental-power’ has become cutdown so bad you couldn’t pay David Spade to use it, and and where Ms. SuperBooty … well, some things are workin` out, and good gentlemen [like good ladies] don’t kiss-&-tell …).
I’m not going to remind you what happened to me; suffice it to say that my life’s work was obliterated–maybe not exactly destroyed, as I still have all the pieces and could put it back together had I the time to do so.
That’s not my problem right now.
The problem I have right now is that the people responsible for my past (chiefly, my parents) have not sought repayment for what was stolen from me. “Oh well,” they (well, ‘she’ now that my dad has slithered back into the magma) might say, “Yur still livin`; s`I’ll jus` give these guhverrnment-people a call, thay’ll git yeeu a job, and yuhll be fine.”
But no. My mom called the government-people, and they told her they’d give me a call … still haven’t.
Besides, I don’t even want a job; as I understood it, am still due payment on the life-work I had done which was stolen from me.
My life was stolen! and I’m not talking about ‘some girl I really-really-really liked’ or ‘a special spit-bubble that was really-really-really neat,’ I’m talking about the way I could have connected my past memories to my present actions!
(In case some ‘smartie’ makes a comment below that sets your minds to thinking, ‘maybe this MythMan is trying to tell us that all we really are is the connection we make between our past memories and our present actions,’ [or in case you are such a ‘smartie’ and start thinking that yourself], I tell you that–true as that may be–that isn’t the point I’m trying to make.)
The point I’m trying to make? That ‘the connection’ was stolen from me, and that I am owed repayment for that ‘connection’ before I get started paying for this connection.
My ‘connection’ was indeed stolen! WRENCHED … OUT-OF … MY … HEAD! (I say it that way that you might imagine my desire to realize the term “knuckle-sandwich” upon the heads of some of these ‘governmental sloth-people.’)
‘If you don’t like talking about it, why even mention it?’ my alter ego, Dumsy McKlumberville asks. ‘Quite simple,’ another alter-ego replies. ‘The people at SallieMae are saying that we owe them money … the money we thought we’d be able to pay them when government made their myth (the one we people are fed about their responsibility for ‘Justice’) into an actual fact.’
I’d made those promises when I was still silly enough to believe that parents were responsible for their children’s lives, back when I was crazy enough to believe that my miracles have any value, back when I was faithful enough to believe that my goodness would see me through, back when I was stupid enough to take a lunatic (my father) at his word.