When you are stuck in a classic Ford pickup truck with a man who smells like cheap beer and laundry detergent, and he swears on Jesus’ mother that he will not rape you, it is easy to see that the plague was a tragicomedy. And just when you think there is nothing you can say to make him shut up, you see a snake talking to a horse about some kind of deal they made way back in 1822. So, really, oh really, it is just a dream.
I possess the uncanny ability of ignoring a problem until its proportions grow too large to hold in my head. Soon enough, it develops a pair of legs and sentience. Then, it beats me up, and runs off with my money. Alternatively, a problem becomes a physical ailment which receives no more attention than it did in its original form. For this reason, I placed my hopes on a ten day Vipassana meditation retreat. If I could just be taught to sit still, to not fear emotion, then everything would begin to fall into place. Unfortunately, I am of the modest variety. The retreat would see both men and women in attendance, and because I was still seeing Ernesto, I did not feel it would be appropriate to be so far from him, while so close to other males. Instead, I kept to the meditation schedule at home. And I will say that all it brought me was nothing but further frustration, and a headache from caffeine withdrawal.
I have mentioned seeing Ernesto, as if it is part of my past. In fact, it is. Shortly after I completed the tenth day of floating about in my own mind, I found that I had not been able to tolerate him any longer. His dependency on me was growing, while my patience had become so thin, it was almost transparent.