This is utterly random. I was poking around in my old writing for no reason and found this. I apparently wrote it in 2007, I have no recollection why. This would have been before, Annalisa showed on the blog, though she’s in this.

I used to write a lot of stories. They were heavy on dialogue because for some reason I can remember it, verbatim going back as far as 40 years. I wrote dialogue from my past simply because I could in some cases. It would be my head so I’d type it out without specific purpose. You climb the mountain because it’s there, right?

So this is Annalisa and I talking. I’m about 30 here so she’s about 32. I was visiting her in Arizona when her husband (now an ex) walked in the room. We both have that Saturn Neptune signature which is apparent here… along with everything else.

“Elsa’s all pissed off because people don’t think she’s real,” she said.  I snorted because it sounded funny when she said it.  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to explain to her there’s nothing she can do.”

“Nothing?” I asked.

“Very little,’ she said. “And whatever you do won’t last.  I should know because I know you. I’ve known you my whole life, we grew up in the same room and I have trouble remembering you’re real myself.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, irritably.

She shook her head. “No. I forget all the time but then you come around and start talking and I remember.”

“I see. So is that it? As soon as I stop talking delusion kicks in?”

“Pretty much,” she said.

“Oh. Well no wonder I talk so much.”

“Yeah, you should write a book.  Then when someone does this you can just hand it to them.”

“Does what?”

“Has you confused with a flake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. If you’d just write a book like I tell you to, anyone gives you any shit, you can put it in their hand and say, here.  Read this, fucker.”