prime

they are seated next to each other--as far away as possible while still sharing the same couch. they are both on their laptops. he's looking at joke pages--inventories of memes, demotivational posters, internet in-jokes, etc. she is reading about mental illness--forums authored by transparently affected individuals lacking professional authority. they say things like: "well, in my experience" or they type long tangents which seem legitimate enough except for one or two common spelling or grammar errors--things like the proper form of "there/their/they're" or how "definitely" is spelled with an "a." the text stands, unedited, which makes her think it's more than just a simple oversight--if they wanted to go back and correct themselves they could. it's right there, for all the internet community to see. it's more likely however that they're unaware that they've made a mistake or they didn't care enough to go back and re-read what they posted. but, if this is the case, then why post at all? doesn't it take a fair amount of self-importance, of believing that what you have to say is either brilliant or profound, to feel compelled to post anything in the first place? these are all questions she asks herself without really asking herself directly--a crumpled piece of paper tied to a mental brick that moves quickly and freely through her brain, shattering nothing--no windows, no glass doors--it floats on eternally without interference. there are a million (probably more) such mental bricks floating through her head. at times they collide, like asteroids, when certain neural passageways intersect, when connections are made, analogies orchestrated--the result is explosive; electric--the proverbial spark--the shotgun-wedding of two previously estranged thoughts, concepts, ideas. she thinks for a minute, stares at him blankly--not really staring at him at all. he has no idea that she is doing this, which makes him appear even more aloof and stupid in her mind than previously, when it was just a fuzzy concept, a vague image inspiring uncontrollable anger--traces of her dad--the already low standard she measures every man against. they don't know it: but they are all doomed from the beginning--starting the semester with an F but, provided her repressed frustrations, the things which anger her but she does not voice (at least initially), believing themselves at a C-level--sometimes, when she is especially covert, an A.
"i'm concerned," she says. he looks up--looks at her, anticipating it: the ridiculous and random criticism. he wonders why when she says she's concerned it's always about him. he wonders if she's really concerned about anything else. "it's your use of the verb 'to be,'" she says. "yeah, what about it?" "don't." she turns away, proud of herself--in a way he can't stand. "what are you talking about?" he asks.
looking up first at the wall, as if glossing over some bulleted talking-points projected there, she then turns to him: "well, i've read about this thing--this new language, almost. this 'sub-language.' basically: by eliminating your use of the verb 'to be,' you're forced to examine your own perceptions. it eliminates a whole host of english-language fallacies. chief among them: asserting something as fact when it may just be your subjective impression."
his head sinks into the v-shaped awning of his hand. "ok--so you're saying i--."
"you have a tendency," she says, "to speak dogmatically, as if every feeling you get were the absolute and unbudging truth. frankly: i can't stand it."
"you realize," he says,"that this little new-age sub-language of yours is pretty much the same things as newspeak? and you realize, too, that that's not a good thing?"
"i don't appreciate your sarcasm. this is a very real and very serious issue and there's nothing orwellian about it. i'm trying to help you become a better person."
"oh, is it a very real issue? is it serious? are you really trying to make me become a better person?" here he sighs and imagines himself like his dad who is his male-standard, though he probably grades him at about a 'b.' "do you not realize how absurd this is? you're using the verb 'to be' right now? and what does it matter if i use the verb 'to be'? how is my use of the verb 'to be' preventing me from becoming a better person?"
"it just is," she says.
here, he laughs incredulously. "is it?"
tbcont