July 17, 2003

From: "Mitchell"
To: "Abbey"
Subject: good
Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2003 15:31:57 +0000

i'm feeling rather unsatisfied this morning. inexplicable. do you know the
feeling when it seems that something is missing or not in its right place?
i can't get a good deep breath of air. *grumble, grumble, grumble*
so this is a disclaimer (we all would like to have clean hands):

1a) incoherent blabber after 2:00am CANNOT be held against me. its not my
fault. my brain gets tired. as for the rest of the day, incoherent blabber
should be treated accordingly.

1b) should my incoherent blabber annoy/bug/hurt/offend/anger you, please
remember that i like you. i'm (usually) not trying to aggravate you, but
sometimes it happens. i am a fool. you are not. thus, you must be
periodically tortured with my myopic comments and statements.

2a) slippages of my tongue, which may seem like brutal attempts to disguise
my voice as a brit, are purely accidental. notice how it seems to happen
late at night? my mouth (like my brain) gets tired and i cannot make
regular phonetic sounds. what you hear is not anything that i regard as
smooth/cool/funny/charming. quite the opposite in fact (though i am not
conscious of doing it): it really really really (to the nth degree)
embarrasses me when you call me on it ("do you think you're ewan mcgregor or
something?" ...gasp! please shoot me). trust me: i really would not be
speaking like that if i was aware of it. it is ridiculous.

2b) something that i am aware of: when talking to someone with a british
accent (at any time of the day), i do put on an accent (chad's dad used to
live in scotland and whenever he drinks, he starts speaking with an accent.
weird, no?). this, too, is unconscious, but i have noticed it before . it,
too, is embarrassing (but a little more understandable and explainable than
my late night voice conversions). the long and short of all of this is: i
do not intentionally change my voice. trust me, if i had some control over
it, i certainly would not be talking like a dork. my recommended course of
action: just ignore it if it happens in the future. spare me the shame.

if you read this before you go to v.b., i wish you a good trip. i hope your
car doesn't fuck up.

adios,
jonas

~if you desire peace of soul and happiness, then believe; if you would be a
disciple of truth, then inquire.~

--------------------------------------------------------------------

From: "Mitchell"
To: "Abbey"
Subject: a ridiculous email
Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2003 16:54:19 +0000

i just finished emailing you and a new message just popped up from you.
wow, technology. in case you worry, my appointment today went well. now
you can sleep gently (not like babies, who wake up every hour. i know this
because i am a father. did i ever tell you about my son? he's great. i'll
show you pictures some day).

1) 3:00am is too late. 2:00am is much better, for reasons explained in my
previous message.

2) i can respect your desire to live outside of time (i have a theory about
time and thought processes and how they affect one another [something about
how time passes slower for smarter people]. remind me and i'll explain it
to you [its actually not that complex]). admittedly, time frightens me. so
does conventiality. i dread being conventional, though i am painfully so.
at least, in my head i can convince myself that this isn't how it is. in my
head, i can convince myself of many things. did i ever mention that i think
'Abbey Chronic" is pretty clever? i'll bet you were pretty excited when you
discovered that it was a suiting name.

3) i do not have a particular disdain for wide open spaces. they are very
zen.

4) you need not worry about rory. he sits on his ass all day without a job
and periodically rides around in his wheelchair (he fears walking: if he
were to trip, he might fall forwards and knock all of his teeth out [which
isn't too difficult given his acute case of scurvy]) to go to 7-11 for pepto
bismal and hot dogs. dan, on the other hand, works at the university and
was the actual subject of my inquisition and anecdote. he, too, sits around
all day and rides on a lawn tractor all over campus (he gets paid for it.
it is his job). you'll probably notice him now that i've mentioned his lawn
tractor. he sticks out like a sore thumb. i see him everytime i'm on
campus. now, the ball will be in your court. soon i will be able to say to
him, "hey danielo, Abbey said she saw you today. she said your tits bounced
everytime your lawn tractor hit a bump." he will then call me a fucker and
start to think about the days when he was in good shape. maybe it'll
inspire him to start watching his weight a little. ahhhh.... beautiful.

5) "when i grow up to be a man" (my favorite bad beach boys song). i
promise i will be polite and kind and gentle when i am all big and strong.
i will treat everyone with respect. until then.....

6) besides 'lady', you have also been referred to as a girl/woman/spanish
teacher/comrade/child/friend/lover/chica/senorita/miss/headache (i jest).
how's that for all-encompassing? i'd say it fits well with your
anachronistic worldview ("both a child and a woman? impossible").
i just received your second email. now here's something that will really
blow your mind: not only did we type emails at the same time, but we also
read and responded at the same time. creepy.

i still disagree: you will break my heart and leave me as nothing more than
a little puddle of cynicism, misery, and disillusionment. its already been
decided upon and i've come to accept it: fate has purchased, measured, cut,
and tied little knots in my skein. jupiter has aligned with mars and venus.
the (fake) yellow-haired boy, full of curious wonder and a sense of
immortality, will be cut to size. a little part of the boy will die and
another part will be reborn. it will be awful and yet, beautiful at the
same time. and with that said and done, everything will be alright. there
will be no regrets. like he/she/it did on the seventh day, god will sit
back and say, "this is good." the little yellow-haired boy will get up,
lick his wounds and agree with god. and through it all, your hands will be
clean. until you've discovered a way to undo time, this will be how the
story unfolds: martyrdom awaits; strap bombs to my chest and tell me what
time the bus arrives. until then, i will enjoy every moment of this.
(wow, that second-to-last sentence is horribly insensitive. i'm tempted to
delete it, but i won't).

well, i bid you farewell.
i will talk to you on a later date.

regards,
ali

~if you desire peace of soul and happiness, then believe; if you would be a
disciple of truth, then inquire.~