Imagine Me

This post is likely to be short, brutal, nasty, and not particularly good (that last bit should come as no surprise), for reasons that will be clear, if you bother to read pass this warning label.



"Hello, imagination, my old friend, how have you been? It has been a long time since we last "talked'." This was my way of attempting to re-introduce myself to the part of myself that makes this blog "tick" so to speak. It was, at first, met with a very loud silence. "I know it's 3 a.m. and you may be on holiday without me, or you may be asleep, or you may be angry enough only to "talk" to me in the increasing disturbing dreams I am having, but I could really use a friend right about now." I didn't know if the appeal to its "compassionate side" would work, like the fellow that it inhabits, my imagination is not exactly overloaded with a Florence Nightingale type bed side manner. As the seconds ticked by, I figured that my imagination wasn't ready for my foolishness, and was going to ignore me. Which was no great shock considering the neglect it has recently suffered from me, and the fact that many people think that ignoring me is a great sport and is the best way to get me to go away.

"Old friend?" I hear my imagination rumble. The good thing with imagination is that it can pick from any voice that I've ever heard in my life to use when it addresses me. Tonight it had picked James Earl Jones a la Darth Vader to reply. I figured that was not the best of signs, but I would just have to grin and bear it. "Old Friend" it continued "Let's us, and by us I mean me, unpack that phrase shall we?" I sighed because I knew that was probably bad news for me, and I've become a bit of an expert at seeing bad news. "Sure" I replied "and by let's I'm guessing you mean you?" It wasn't the wisest thing to do, to poke the bear of my imagination, but I've never been counted among the wise men of my or any other generation.

"Yes, I will unpack it, you just sit there, mouth agape and try not to say anything else particularly stupid or insulting" it replied. "Well, in my defense, I do have an awful cold, and mouth breathing is about the only way I can breath." A booming laugh is my reply "as if mouth breathing is the reason you're an stupid ape. If that were the only reason, then maybe we could somehow train you in the physical sense to keep it shut, both for breathing and less talking." I thought that was a bit cruel but by now I figured that my imagination was right, and I clamped my mouth shut and struggled to breath through the one non-clogged nostril I possessed at the moment.

"I am not as old as you "my friend' since you lacked me for large swathes of your life, you weren't born with me, and the formative years you spent shitting yourself, drooling on yourself (though that doesn't seemed to have stopped), and having the Wolf that Raised you wipe your nose (which still needs wiping by the way) I was not around for." It made a fair point I supposed, but I didn't need it pointed out exactly that way, but again silence was probably golden for me. "In fact, compared to you, I am relatively young at least in the guise you can access me. The good thing for you is that I am also, very, very old. I can when you let me loose access centuries of human history, and great amounts of human knowledge, the only thing holding me back is, of course, you." This was said with just the amount of bitterness it deserved, and did prompt me to quietly say "I am so sorry."

"We shall get to your sorriness later, but for the nonce, we are talking about 'old friend'. it replied. "I am not Spock to your Kirk (and here it switched to Spock voice) "I am now, and always shall be your friend." that is not how this relationship between us works. I generally don't wish you any ill-will, but I am not, nor shall I ever be 'your friend'." I guess it had a point, but to "hear" it put that way was a bit of a shock to the system, many of us like to pretend that we don't care what other people think about them, and whether they are universally loved, but deep down inside in the places that we can only go alone, we still want to be 'liked'.  "Stop trying to bring pity to this party, I have given her the night off, after your recent run of disasters, she's exhausted. Friend is an interesting word you have chosen, especially coming from you, a man who prides himself on not having a 'best' friend. You seem to forget that I am trapped in here with you. You are, for better or worse, my prison."

I couldn't resist, and replied "That would explain the fascination you seem to have given me for prison movies, books, and stories, and why when I let you loose 'we' write a lot about prisons." It laughed and said "yes Einstein that is a lot of the reason why 'we' (using the term very loosely) have that issue. You only know what it is like to be trapped in the meat prison that is your body. I, on the other hand, being non-corporeal have to deal with being trapped by you. The occasional flights of fancy notwithstanding, my prison is much, much worse, but you lack the capacity to understand that, and I have long since given up trying to make you. But, let us get back to that tricky term friend shall we?' I sighed, I had hoped that my interruption would break the chain of abuse, but as usual I was incorrect, "OK" was all I could muster.

"You lack them, you know? Friends that is, in fact one of the most pathetic sights I have witnessed (and I've seen all of your pathetic sights) was you struggling to figure out whom to leave your life insurance benefits to when you finally, thankfully die. The sight of you looking up on the internet on how to leave your life insurance to a charity because you lack friends, was particularly pathetic. I would like to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you had decided to give that money to a charity out of some sense of 'goodness in your heart' but I have seen your heart several times, and have yet to locate the 'goodness' section. It wasn't any act of kindness, it was an act of pure desperation, and probably some form of spite." I had to interrupt to say "well I didn't want the money to go to my estate, and have the student loan people get it." "Yes," it replied that was the spite, after all they let you borrow the money, why wouldn't you want to pay them back, at least as much as you can. After all, the education that the money they let you have in many ways led me into being. Your backwater, redneck ass was never going to acquire an imagination (limited though I may be) as good as me without that education. You were on the path of living in a trailer park with a satellite dish, a pick up truck, 2 ex wives, and 3 bratty children before you took their coin and educated yourself"

Jesus wept I thought my imagination is defending the student loan people, and is doing it so well that I almost feel sorry for them. "Well, you have a point, and it is well made, but it distresses me a great deal to hear you put it that way. And since I am still, in theory, in charge of this 'meat prison' as you call it, I think I have a rebuttal to this conversation, at least for tonight." That was when I reached for the three glasses I had been preparing during my imagination's last speech. One shot of Jameson, one shot of Ginger Ale (for a chaser), and one shot of NyQuil, and it was good night sweet prince. But I knew it would have the last word, after all it wasn't going to be instant unconsciousness, and I knew it was coming, and it didn't disappoint. Just before the sweet darkness of sleep overtook me it whispered in its best Nicole Kidman voice, "I'll be here when you wake up big boy."