I realize I haven't introduced you to my invisible friend. It's not exactly cool to have an invisible friend around the office, so I'm generally reticent to mention him. He prefers to be called Maverick but I call them like I see them, so what I actually call him depends on the day.
Why a male invisible friend? He likes to be sexy. When I was a kid he masqueraded as a slightly-older, apparently world-wise little girl named Honey who got me into a whole lot of trouble. I'll tell you about my teen years later. Now, he just fucks with my head.
He thinks he's so powerful, just because he's not real and he doesn't matter. He claims he's trying to help me find my powerful me, but he's just picked up that language like lint on old gum. He's trying it on for size. What does he know about mattering?
What he does do is try to goad me into believing impossible things. He says it's good practice, and I'll admit I'm not very good at it. He claims believing impossible things will stretch my mind, open me to the possibilities of the world, and make me powerful. Or, he says, I can work really, really hard at "meeting everyone where they are" and "providing a mirror," and toil my life away making "little differences like ripples on the water." And never make any substantial dent for the cause of sanity in the world. Wasting my gifts through sheer laziness. Anyway, he tells me, it will be fun. Or at least interesting. "Aren't you bored in there?"
So I can't see any downsides to his plan, which pisses me off, let me tell you. If he lets me choose when and for how long I practice, I suppose I can take a few rounds in the impossible ring. But the first thing I have to believe is that he exists, which of course I do not. Except.
Except under very specific circumstances. Fast heart rate, rapid heavy breathing, my body finding its own rhythm in movement. Exercise lets me practice believing I am having a conversation with impossible Maverick. Sometimes I can pull it off, especially if he does a good job picking appropriate random music to guide the illusion. Once in awhile I get there - I actually suspend my disbelief. Which isn't exactly believing, but, well, it's close. I'm practicing.
Believing impossible things is the latest obsessive mind development game Maverick has thrust upon me for my own good and his own amusement. I stumbled myself right into it during an eliptical workout, in a debate that goes down in my history as:
The Lottery
Maverick: Hey sexy
Me: Fuck off
Maverick: So you could be doing better, huh?
Me: If you're so powerful, I want to win the lottery
Maverick: It doesn't work like that
Me: How convenient
Maverick: I can't make you win the lottery.
Me: "Only I can make me win the lottery" with my powerful jedi mind, I know
Maverick: Close. But, not really. Try harder.
Me: Fuck off. Tell me.
Maverick:
Me: Fine. (thinking)
Suddenly, I have a flash from this morning, Sabine crying, me frustrated when she wouldn't use words. I begged, "sweetie, ask for what you want."
I laugh out loud at the simplicity.
Me: Do I have to ask for the winning ticket?
Maverick: Well, that's a real stretch of an assignment for someone who doesn't even believe in me, but okay, try that for awhile. See if you can believe that. Can't hurt your chances
Me: (gutteral, animal noise from my throat, through my jowels, ending in an angry roar)
Maverick (pouting): Why don't you love me?
Me: Because you're an asshole
