Tuesday, March 31, 2009

When you met her, you thought she was negligent. You thought she didn't care about whether or not you thought anything about her. You thought it pained her to remember your name. I've been with her for quite a while now, and due to the time we've spent together I can dutifully report with clear conscience that all of what you think is true.

People have asked me why she behaves the way she does, whether or not she realizes how deeply she offends people. All I can say to them is that realizing and repenting are two separate things. People have asked me if she is at all bothered by the ways in which she disgusts, disarms, and demeans them. This, perhaps, concerns her.

Everything I can tell you is conjecture. The most revealing thing I can reiterate is something that has happened. I made a few notes after the incident, and I will reproduce them for you here. I do not dare elaborate on the content of these notes, because they are the truest, most immediate recollections I am able to bring to bear. Anything beyond this would remove us from the situation farther than the words themselves:

she can't physically bring herself to
she can, physically all her systems are working
but she can't mentally engage with other people enough to speak
she can speak, she just never feels like she needs it
and people want her to so bad because it's alienating
she really doesn't and everyone hates her for it except the narrator
because the narrator is a narrator and its her job to speak for other people
so they're a perfect pair--
the speechless character (as all characters in words)
and the narrator that says everything that everyone else says
so it's a book about books kind of too
maybe an extended metaphor or something

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