Theories of advanced escapism
„You’re quiet tonight“, I said to my date, a no longer in use keyboard piano with a wig and a leather jacket that strangely looked better on it than it did on me. Clearly, I have gone off the deep end. I’ve gone mad. Bananas. Nuts. Crazy. I’ve lost it, is what I’m trying to say.
Being in isolation should be perfect. There is really not that much of a difference to how much contact I have to people otherwise.
I don’t like people, or having them around me, but not having any people around me is bad, as well. So, I’ve come up with some ways to make up for being alone at this time. As I’ve mentioned, Key-Tara is who I talk to and who I eat with. There would have been other options, I’m sure, but I had no volleyball at hand. I’m sorry, Wilson.
It is Key-Tara who has become the stand-in for a number of people I normally interact with on an almost daily basis:
The people who just stare at me in silence when I make a joke that falls flat immediately.
The people who are just as awkward as me and cause the conversation to fade into silence.
The people I say „hi“ to but who are clearly better than me and don’t say it back.
Actually, this is all very therapeutic, since I am now able to tell these people exactly how I feel about their behavior. Not that it matters, since I’m talking to a keyboard in a wig. But it keeps the mind busy while the rest of the world is fading away.
To keep up the illusion of daily life, I even began having Key-Tara act out some of the mannerism I observed in other people. When I move her from one room to the other, I make sure to leave the chair standing in the middle of the room, just so I can fly off the handle for people being unable to put back their chair where it belongs. How difficult is that to just put back your damn chair where it was?!
I have long philosophical talks with her. She understands me and never interrupts when I’m in the middle of a story. We watch movies together and she never falls asleep during the funny bits. IT, I mean. IT.
This needs to be over soon, cause I’m getting a feeling my broom is becoming jealous and I need to talk to him too. I mean IT. I hate cheap love-triangles in movies, but it is the perfect escapism. And the way he stands there, leaning cool against the wall, mocking me with his body-language. He is everything I am not.
I might need therapy when this corona-thing is over.