in which 63!graham longs to be left alone with dogs

[savoureuse]

The question is, am I in your head or are you in mine?

And the problem is that I am—really sick of that question.

Comments

[fine_young]

Well, we do lead rather odd lives.

[ex_ligature983]

Is that not the same question we ask of god?

[savoureuse]

Not personally. If we were on speaking terms, I would have other, more pointed, questions.

[ex_ligature983]

Such as?

[savoureuse]

Why oh why.

Might be interesting. To have to ask why.

[ex_ligature983]

I should think, with your knowledge of the world, that you could make an informed guess.

[savoureuse]

How to profile God.

[Her lip hitches up as she says it; neither a smile nor a sneer, but something hovering in between, almost laughing. She tips her head back, eyes drifting almost dazedly upwards.]

Too random to be mission-oriented. Too clear-headed to be visionary. You said once that it must feel good for him to kill, but that's not enough. Why does it feel good? Does God need the assurance of killing to feel powerful?

Maybe he regrets it. Taking the world out of its packaging and getting it dirty. Maybe he doesn't like how all his creations seem to have minds of their own.

[ortolan]

Ask yourself this: does the answer to your little question affect how you wish to live out your life?

[savoureuse]

Is it little? I'm not sure it's little.

[ortolan]

[She raises her hand to acknowledge the strike.]

It is a great, vast yawning void of a question that could eat you up whole, but again I say: does the answer affect how you live your life?

Would you change yourself if you knew that you were fictional or made in the image of God or actually a God?

[savoureuse]

Quick move, from am I real to am I God.

I think I've been hanging on to my concept of myself for long enough now, and with enough desperation, that willingly unpeeling my fingers, even if I thought it would change things for the better, would be the real difficulty.

needs less cannibals.

[break]

That's cute. But it's not really an incisive question, is it. Better to ask: who am I talking to right now, Ms Graham?

the salad was people.

[savoureuse]

Nasty word, incisive. Means cutting. Slicing. Right to the heart of things.

I like my question as it stands. Guess I'm not that incisive.

[break]

I don't know, I think there's sharpness to you.

[savoureuse]

What's that, a compliment or a veiled accusation?

[break]

Couldn't it be both?

[savoureuse]

Could be, from you. You'll excuse me if I'm not enthused about either.

[designates]

And here I was thinking I was the only one with that monster in my closet.

[savoureuse]

[Haa. Ah. Phil gives a sort of laugh that sounds more like a groan; rubs at her eyebrow for a moment.]

Statistically very unlikely. The earth always has room for a little more questionable sanity. But isolation can be convincing.

[designates]

I don't want to seem rude, but I would have used 'comforting' instead of 'convincing'.

[ because you know, no one should have to go through what Will goes through on a daily basis, let alone another... him. not-him. her. this is confusing and makes his head hurt ]

[savoureuse]

Both, maybe?

So, you're, uh. Ha.

[You're. Well. You are. Possibly her. She is slightly apologetic about that. Sorry, bro.]

[designates]

Yeah. I'm um. [ lying his hands flat, spreading them outwards, as if motioning to everything. ] We could pretend it's a symptom of our respective overactive-imaginations, but I think we both know better.

[slightlyoffchilt]

One might say there is quite the hydra of heads involved.

[savoureuse]

I really hope you're not picturing yourself as Hercules.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Always fancied myself more as the Odysseus type. [He shrugs, though his don't leave her face.] I prefer solving my monsters, rather than brutalizing them.

[That's what he calls it. Solving.]

[savoureuse]

Odysseus. The epic fraud.

I don't think you're that subtle, doctor.

[slightlyoffchilt]

I'll be sure to tread carefully when inquiring what you think, then.

[murdermongrel]

[Winston can't tell you anything either way, Phil, but he can casually walk between your legs and sit there.

Unobtrusively, of course (not it's not, he's totally in the way). He doesn't need immediate attention or anything (pet me he screams)]

[savoureuse]

[And yet: the most helpful response yet.]

Hey, Winston.

[Phil doesn't babytalk her dogs, that's just condescending. She does, however, give rubs and pats with the ferocity of a woman who has few other lifelines, giving Winston an enthusiastic scratching behind the ears.  Whosagoodboy.]

[murdermongrel]

[AW YIS THIS IS WHY PHIL IS THE BEST EVER Whosagoodboy?

Sometimes people ask that over and over and never say who it is. It's a real struggle, a real identity crisis, because what if the dog never finds out who is, in fact, the good boy? But not Winston, because Phil makes sure Winston knows he's a good boy, same as the rest of them.

And, augh, it feels so good she's so good he ends up thumping his back leg all over the place because how can he not? Maybe it's a little bit undignified, but Winston doesn't care because Phil is just that awesome.

Try not to be in crazy prison too long, okay?]

[morewidows]

Why does it have to be one or the other? You could always be sharing a head, and there's hardly anything wrong with that.

[She has family like that, no need to be rude.]

[savoureuse]

Nothing save the side effects. Which are always the catch, somehow.

[morewidows]

Oh, my dear, the side effects are what you make of them! They are, in fact, the greatest part of such a thing.

Same as any other marriage.