SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME – the book

I relayed my Asheville to Santa Fe travel story to Diane.

She looked at the floor. “Peace in the valley didn’t last long.”

Looking at the floor in return, I said, “No. It didn’t. Sorry. The party was over once I set foot back home. I gave suicide a good go, but the rope broke from the ceiling.”

We stared at each other.

I continued. “I wasn’t morbidly depressed. I just ran out of ideas. It didn’t work. So, I got drunk and high as a kite. It was obvious that I wasn’t brave enough to face the world. All these years later, I’m still not.”

After a pause, she said, “But you’re not drunk anymore. Or, high. You’re facing the world now. You’re not happy about being depressed. You’re…”

“I’m not happy about being pathetic. I’m not happy about being pointless. I hate being stupid. I hate being an idiot. That’s all I was, and that’s all I am. A ridiculous…”

“Survivor.” Diane was even-keeled.

“A surviving idiot. Nothing beyond…”

“Stop all that. Don’t make me stop this car and review your medications, young man. Pay attention. You gave yourself every reason to drop out of college. You could have stayed in Austin. You didn’t.”

By now, I was agitated. “I take up space—no damned good—a fat, stupid, ugly piece of shit. I’m a disgusting idiot. A just society would’ve eliminated me years ago…”

“Wrong. You returned to the campus. The petrifying campus. You graduated. Why would you do that? Don’t answer. Rhetorical. Don’t talk. I understand you had an alcohol disorder, which provided you one more reason to drop out.”

“A disgusting idiot. Idiot!”

Diane remained calm, “Wrong. Stop. I have questions. What are the requirements to qualify as a disgusting idiot? What steps do I need to take to join the disgusting idiot’s club? When was the last time you read the writing on the wall?”

I wasn’t paying much attention. “I look in the mirror and see a monster. I hear the garbage coming out of my mouth. It makes me crazier than I already am. And I am thoroughly full of shit. Pathetic. Cowardly…”

Diane was less calm and more annoyed. “Try again. Please answer my questions. What are the requirements to be a disgusting idiot? What steps did I need to take to join the disgusting idiot’s club? When was the last time you read the writing on the wall?”

“The answers are I don’t know, I don’t know, and, not counting graffiti, the last time I read the writing on the wall was from a girlfriend who suggested I go to hell. I’m paraphrasing.”

Diane pretended to look confused. “You don’t know what it takes to be a disgusting idiot, but you insist you are one. Eagerly so. You’re not eager to give me any evidence. It’s a mystery for all of us. Every time I ask why, you avoid answering. If you were in my chair, perhaps you would share my perplexity. Why are you cowardly?”

I glanced at her and said, “I’m too cowardly to be honest with anyone. Anyone. I hide behind my persona and never show the real me. I’m too ashamed and cowardly to show what a dumpster fire I am.”

Diane pondered my last statement and replied, “There is a medical term describing this behavior. It’s called bullshitting. Wait! Don’t speak. Everyone bullshits. Everyone. We’re all full of shit. The Pope is a bullshitter. Mother Teresa was unconditionally full of bullshit. So am I. Welcome to humanity. Thank goodness we’re all bullshitters. You’re still not allowed to speak. Don’t make that face. Just listen. If we stopped bullshitting and made the world aware of all our fears, insecurities, doubts, anger, selfishness, hatred, lunacies, and shortcomings, then do you have any idea what the consequences would be?”

I shrugged. “We’d all hate each other.”

Diane looked shocked. “Worse. Much worse. I’d be out of a job. Have you ever bitten the hand that feeds you? Ask me how I am, and I will answer.”

“How the hell are you?”

“Fine. That’s bullshit. Ask me again.”

“So, how are you on this fine day?”

She took a long breath. “I don’t feel well. I’ve had diarrhea since this morning. I’m queasy. When my daughter isn’t bitching about something or lying to me, she’s talking to her godawful friends on the phone. Speaking of bitching, I put up with my mother’s Alzheimer’s and secretly wish she would die for my benefit and not hers. I’m lonely. The future scares me more than ever. The sexism in the medical profession is always on my mind and makes me want to vomit. I’m losing confidence that I can manage my personal life. Do you know anyone who lives in a glass house? I’m angry at the woman who insulted me at Synagogue last week. I’m tired, and this diarrhea isn’t going away. Or would you have preferred ‘fine’?”

I smiled at her. “Okay. Point made. Have you considered pimp-slapping your daughter to the Stone Age? To get her attention.”

Diane rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I hope I did make my point. We all hide the same problems with bullshit. You’re no different. Sadly, your depression and traumas cause you to turn on yourself. You think you’re bullshitting by pretending to be perfect, likable, humorous and in control. Well, you are bullshitting. Good. Maybe it means you are conscientious. Perhaps it means you’re attentive to others. It doesn’t mean you’re a coward. Stop blaming yourself. Consider it your act of friendship. Is this getting through, or should we review your medications again?”

“At any moment in your life, have you counted your chickens before they hatched? Yes, message received and understood. Whenever I’m being nice and perfect to people, I’ll demand their undying gratitude and praise.”

“Please stop trying to be a mind-reader. You’re quite bad at it. We do just fine without you shoving your insecurities on us. We have plenty of our own. Don’t assume you know what the rest of us are thinking. We’re in our own dumpster fires. Try not to pour gasoline on us.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“We all hide behind masks and wear suits of armor. Why? We’re human beings going about the task of being human. I think, therefore, I bullshit. What about all the Greek tragedies where the actors had to wear masks?”

“That was because they were terrible actors.”

“You did Shakespeare. Didn’t you have to wear masks?”

I laughed. “Only once. Midsummer’s Night Dream. I turned into a donkey every night and put on a donkey’s head. Yes, I was an ass. Do not say one word.”

“You don’t make it easy.”

“Have you ever cut off your nose to spite your face? Cite examples. A serious question follows: If we’re lying constantly, how do we know if someone’s telling the truth?”

Diane looked surprised. “Bullshitting and lying aren’t the same. Deliberately prevaricating from the truth is lying. My daughter tells me she studied at a friend’s house last night. She’s lying. You don’t have children.”

“I don’t think so.”

She hesitated. “Wise man. My daughter is a bullshit artist, too. Before a date, she puts on too much make-up, dresses to look ten pounds lighter, behaves like a nice person, pretends to be interested in whatever the boy is talking about, and misleads him into believing she doesn’t fart all the time. None of those acts are lies. They are forms of bullshit practiced all over the world.”

I replied, “So, either way, the truth, the whole truth, isn’t in the vocabulary. It’s in the nuances, the phrasing, the hesitations, the inconsistencies, and all the other junk between the lines. Our DNA is covered in mounds of bullshit. Is that a fair assessment?”

Diane laughed. “It is. Listen, all those British comedies are funny because of what’s in between every character’s lines. No one says what’s really on their minds.”

“Point.”

She stared at me for an extended moment. “When you tell me that you’re stupid or worthless or pathetic, you’re bullshitting me. Wait. Don’t talk. I’m a paid professional. From an early age, you told the world you were a loser and a subhuman. You thought the world hated you, so you defended yourself the best way you could by demonstrating how much you hated yourself.” Another pause. “What’s sad is you were bullshitting yourself. Sadder still, you believed it. You still do.”

“I know.”

“People bullshit themselves and others to present themselves in the best light possible, except you. You are the opposite. Over all these years, your brain became wired with self-loathing. Your brain needs rewiring.”

Diane waited for me to speak. Finally, she said, “It’ll take time. You have an assignment. Take no less than five minutes today, sit still, close your eyes, and imagine softly repeating ‘I love you’ to your eleven-year-old self. Stop it with the faces! Five minutes. No less. Tomorrow, do it for six minutes. Use an egg timer. It will be awkward and uncomfortable for a while. The next day, take seven minutes. When we meet next week, you need to be at twelve minutes. Yes, you must do this. I’ll have my people observing you. You will do this even though you’ll feel foolish.”

I winced. “Why?”

“Because we all must start somewhere. This is your somewhere. Five minutes today. You start there. Sit still, feet on the floor, and do it. There are fourteen hundred minutes in a day. You’re setting aside five today, adding a minute each day. This is the start. It’s going to take time. Will you take five minutes today and do this?”

“It sounds simple enough.”

“Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Are you sure I won’t be bullshitting myself?”

“You’ve been bullshitting yourself with self-hate for decades. You can take a few minutes to shovel some in the other direction. Remember, always remember, what doesn’t kill you gives you a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms and a sick sense of humor.”

“How many Freudians does it take to change a lightbulb? Two. One to change the bulb and one to hold the penis. I mean the mother! I mean the ladder!”

Diane shook her head. “Freud would say you dreamed that.”

I attempted to look worried. “Speaking of dreams, I had a troubling one last night.  It was late at night, and I was lost. An audiobook played on the car stereo. The audiobook was a very tacky romance novel. However, because I was lost, I also had the GPS audio running. The GPS LADY KEPT INTERRUPTING the audiobook narration.”

Diane closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.

I described the narration and GPS instructions:

Now that he had her in his arms, her breath was fast and uneven with desire, her eyes glazed with need. She knew it was too late to MAKE A LEGAL U-TURN. At that moment, she decided to TAKE THE RAMP IN 100 FEET and STAY STRAIGHT ON I-95 FOR 27 MILES if that’s what it took to satisfy her passion.

His joy In her enthralled him as they began to move together, and he had the intense pleasure of knowing she would, at any moment, TAKE THE FIRST EXIT OFF THE ROUNDABOUT. Caught in wave after wave of glorious pleasure, Kairee whispered to James, WELCOME TO VIRGINIA. PARK NEAR THE OBSERVATION AREA.

Kairee caressed James’ face. She felt hotter and hotter once he decided to FOLLOW THE SIGNS TO COBO ARENA. She knew she would be a fool to lose her heart to him, but she desperately wanted to TURN RIGHT ONTO SUGAR PLUM LANE AND STAY IN THE LEFT LANE TO SHANGRI-LA EXPRESSWAY with him every day for the rest of her life.

James astonished her when he quickly went to MOVE TO THE CENTER LANE. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire. James slowly moved down her torso, and she knew he was about to MERGE ONTO THE SLIP ROAD. She trembled as he started SCANNING FOR BLUETOOTH TUNNEL BEACONS.

He continued his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward. Kairee quivered and begged him to TURN SLIGHTLY RIGHT ONTO THE RAMP TOWARDS TOLEDO. Now. Right now!

She rolled over, stretched out on her stomach, and closed her eyes. It was only a matter of time before James would MERGE ONTO THE UNDERPASS and TAKE THE ENTRANCE TO SECAUCUS JUNCTION. And, when he did, she’d be ready to MAKE A U-TURN AT THE CUL-DE-SAC. James gazed at her for a long time. He knew, together, they would TAKE THE TUNNEL TO BONANZA MOUNTAIN.

James submitted to her desire. Every muscle in Kairee’s body seemed to shake as she begged him to TAP HERE TO AVOID PAYING TOLL CHARGES.

Harder and harder he went until Kairee grew taut, and her insides expanded. She desperately wanted him to STAY ON THE HARBOR TUNNEL FOR 13 MILES.

She dug her nails into his muscular back. James already knew  A FASTER ROUTE IS NOW AVAILABLE. BUSCH STADIUM IS STRAIGHT AHEAD.

She stared urgently into his eyes as if to say, YOU ARE NOW ENTERING UTAH.

He took her over the edge of her passion, and she exploded in a shattering climax and screamed, YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION!

“Then, I woke up. What would Freud say to this dream?”

Diane shook her head. “He’d say you need help.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Let’s take a look at your medications.”

“I’ll be leaving now. Cheery-bye!”

—THE END—

Next Chapter

Postscript –

Time for a bullshit diatribe:

She was right about all the bullshit. It’s a necessary component of life. While we’re all spectacularly adept at dispensing it, we’re just as inept at discerning the bullshit heaped upon us. That’s not good.

Believing someone’s bullshit without fact-checking is a bad idea.

Believing your own bullshit can be worse.

One example of effective bullshit is the generally accepted idea that you can see the Great Wall of China from the moon. This idea came from a Ripley’s “Believe It or Not” cartoon published in 1932. Was my man Ripley able to verify the claim? No. It was 1932. It would be another thirty-seven years before anyone made it to the moon.

The whole thing was bullshit. But people believed it anyway.

If I were Ripley, then I would have said, “Look. People! We made it up. It’s 1932. We don’t know what the hell you can and can’t see while you’re on the moon. We don’t know anyone who has been to the moon. Do you? No, you do not. We can barely fly people to New York City. Hello? Is this thing on?”

It was bullshit, but at least it was amusing bullshit.

My favorite example of corporate bullshit is a test corporations give to prospective employees. I’m withholding the name. It’s a test most Fortune 100 companies administer to job applicants to see if they are the types of people the company wants to employ. The test is a series of nebulous, arbitrary questions, each with only two fixed responses from which to choose.

Allegedly, the results give you indications as to the type of person you’re considering for employment.

Since most big companies rely on the test, you’d think the initial development would have taken decades, and there’d be a mountain of science confirming the accuracy and reliability of the data.

You would be wrong.

This test was something a mother and daughter put together a hundred years ago as a family game for fun. Suitability for employment never entered the equation.

So much for decades of initial development.

The mom and daughter took their little ad hoc creation and ran in various directions. One direction was to say the test was based on a theory developed and tested by a world-renowned psychotherapist.  It turned out that the theory wasn’t a theory. It was just an idea the guy had been kicking around the office for a while.

Then they pitched it to corporations who flocked to this test like flies to horse manure.

As far as the mountain of corroborating scientific evidence goes, there is none. Well, the company selling this test to businesses insists it has oodles of scientific data from tests they’ve conducted that indicate the test does a fantastic job, which is why the company wants to sell you the test.

Is all this data available for independent review and verification?

Well, uh,…it has, uh, the thing is…no.  See, it’s a, like, um,  proprietary operating system…datagram…sequence. And we did, like, a lot of internal, uh, research and figured it…out.

Well, that’s reassuring. Is there any information concerning the testing environment and measurements?

Oh,…yeah…I mean, of course,…sure…yeah. See, we used a, uh,…okay. Sure. We used…random parameters…based on…uh,…the…wait, I have it written down here…based on the Boolean frequency distribution control group,, and…and…uh, had…API…somewhere with the universal geocentric…phrenology…uh, model, and,…then,… quantitative…analytical…isomorphic…subsets, then…like…look, just buy the fucking thing, okay?

Not that it matters because corporate employees know all about this test and know how to massage the answers to their advantage.

Even though everything about this test is exploding with bullshit, corporate executives around the world hyperventilate over the test results because they believe the bullshit.

In this case, the expensive bullshit.

Sadly, believing some bullshit can get you killed.

In the late 1990s, some clown wrote about a study he conducted that linked the measles, mumps, and rubella childhood vaccine to an increased likelihood of autism. A prestigious medical journal published the study, causing the fit to hit the shan.

Parents, at a global level, panicked. All hell broke loose. People were outraged. Governments got involved. Talk show hosts got the vapors and whined about the medical community’s plot to get everyone sick so insurance companies could double their premiums.

As it turned out, the study linking the vaccines and autism was manufactured. The guy made the whole thing up. He got paid to lie through his teeth. There’s not a word of truth to any of it.

No other test could find any link at all. Nothing.

However, enough stuck to the wall because plenty of parents refused to immunize their children. Period. No vaccines, no how, no way. On accounta, vaccines cause autism. Little Trevor may still have autism. There’s no way to confirm this, as he’s dead due to the measles outbreak.

That was some deadly bullshit.

Let’s not forget the consistently unreliable, unwitnessed, unverifiable, unprovable, untraceable, never-to-be-corroborated-or-replicated “I saw a Martian reprogramming voting machines” anecdotal bullshit. (Which proceeds the following bullshit: “I know what I saw. Are you accusing me of lying?”*)

Also, we have the “we completed a comprehensive internal review and determined we’re in full compliance with federal regulations” trust-me bullshit.

There is plenty of the “you can save up to 50% on selected items” we’re-doing-you-a-favor bullshit.

Oh, yeah, we have the “I will love you forever, the check is in the mail, I’ll respect you in the morning, I promise not to…uh, if you really lived me as much as I love you, then you’d take your pants off” true-love bullshit.

To say nothing of the “I’ve spoken to the American people, they all told me I should remain in office, and whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty in this country” political bullshit.

The point is, we’re dealing with a lot of shit.

* yes