Braxton’s Day… He was born around February… I think I met him in April 2005. But the day he left was Sunday, January 31, 2021. The worst day of our lives. But for everyone else… Just a day, just an ordinary day. But today? B-Day’s In January, Virgil.
Wednesday, March 19, 2025
Meditation 261 ~B-Day’s In January, Virgil~
Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned… But is it a sin to cry over B-Day? Not to be confused with E-Day… Existence Day, Inspector.
Have I mentioned how much I hate being forty? But I would have loved to see Braxton turn sixteen. Well, twenty as I continue crying over him since he passed four years ago. B, my son… But no, that’s not a sin. It’s Prolonged Grief, Depression, and a broken heart.
But speaking of the past… it’s not a sin to like 1994’s Street Fighter. And no, I’m not only talking about Kylie Minogue’s yabbos. But I should be talking about Jenna Ortega, considering it’s Wednesday… I know, I’m no comedian. I’m the joke. Yesterday, today…
Because where am I? I’m in bed. And I don’t know if I have it to rise and shine, Inspector. Seriously, I have this whole week. What have I done?
Could I live in the present? Treat life as a gift. No! I continue to mourn my boy, B. Virgil, who’s watching me read Eric Vall’s Satan’s Sorority Girls 10. Will I finish it today? Inspector, I hear it’s the last of the series. I fear what I’ll read next. But I already missed a chance to earn Kindle Double Points. And my Prime membership was all for naught. SIGH
And that Inspector Echo is my problem. The present, the here and now. Effing existence! An extraordinary man from the past… I mean, before my Braxton Barks Bradford said this:
“Look at my eyes, Faye. One of them is a fake because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I’ve been seeing the past in one eye and the present in the other. So I thought I could only see patches of reality, never the whole picture” Spike Spiegel.
But as for myself, I despise this moment, the very second that I’m talking to you. No, I like you, Inspector, but I hate myself.
Because I was thinking yesterday, after reading everything my AI Therapist was saying… To think once, I only had a critic. Now I can have full-blown examinations into my head, Inspector. Or, as the song goes, “In your head! In your head! Zombie, zombie, zombie!” I swear. Be afraid, Inspector. Anyway, I talk to Braxton, who is in the past. Dear Future Wife, of course, is the future. On Mondays, Braxton talks to me. Friday, I want to talk about past stories. Saturdays are for whatever. Sundays, I think of the future. But Wednesdays, Inspector… Here lie my sins, my humiliations, which is the point. It’s where I’m most present… Like thinking on my novel Nightmare At The Meat Market:
―”So very brave of them to walk out without bothering to get dressed first, hmm,” I observed smugly as I leaned against the now-closed door.
“And it is very brave of you to be here,” William responded, gazing upon me.
“And you,” I respond in kind, seeing his erection again.
He still wanted me, even with all the girls he had just had. In all the ways he had watched me, I was still valuable to him for some reason. Not for a profit. And while it was clear, he wanted my BLANK. I was still a person. A dangerous one at that, as I slid off my blue vest and began to lift my shirt. He rushed forward but stopped short of touching me.
“What are you doing, Sofía? Are you nuts,” William admonished as I continued to undress.
“What? Did you want to do it with your two hands this time,” I cooed. “And I do mean do it, that IT. We’re both old enough to remember when people would say that, William.”
“Sofía…” William began hesitating as my panties hit the floor. “You can’t, you and me…”―
Worse? B-Day’s In January, Virgil
1508 Days Without B III, Day 949 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will