Mom liked ‘Send me an angel right now’

I was going to try to listen to this song on youtube at the apartment, but instead of downloading the song, it was downloading a virus or something. So I can’t listen to it right now. It just sat there showing a bunch of network activity without even buffering the song, even after I closed the youtube page and had absolutely nothing open that ought to be downloading large amounts of anything. This is very annoying. She told me that the network was very slow at this apartment.

I was at Weis Market a minute ago. Weis always had a surprisingly pleasant mix of music, although it was extremely repetitive. I was getting organic rosemary because I used up all of my previous container. I didn’t know they had organic but decided to get that one when I saw it.

‘Send me an angel’ by the band Real Life started playing. I heard the song, recognized it, and suddenly felt all excited and I wanted to tell Mom, ‘Hey Mom! I heard that song you told me you were looking for!’

DECADES AGO, Mom briefly and casually mentioned in passing that she was looking for that song, during the time period when we listened to songs on the radio and recorded them on a cassette tape. She told me there was another song about an angel, and that other song wasn’t the one she wanted, it was THIS song.

I think we even found it for her and we had it on a tape for her at one point. I’m pretty sure we did. This was resolved. However, it was permanently imprinted in my memory: Mom likes this song and she’s looking for it. Even decades later, even after she is dead, by God she’s gotta get that song on a tape.

I do still pretend there is an afterlife. The pain of simply vanishing is an unbearable pain. Vanishing after a miserable life is even worse. If you simply vanished after living a good life, and having good children, and knowing the world was in good hands, forever and ever, then it would be okay to die. As it is right now, it is not okay to die. We do not live good lives, we do not have healthy successful children, and the world is not in good hands, but is instead getting worse.

Matthew has this ability, as an ENFJ, to notice exactly what song is playing on the radio while we’re talking at MM, and notice if it is in any way relevant or connected in a meaningful way. He doesn’t connect *every* song to the current discussion. He only notices it when it’s meaningful. This is his magical ability as an ENFJ. Last night he came in briefly and talked with me, and he observed that I was postponing my move into the apartment. ‘Waiting for the world to change’ was the song playing at that moment, and he said, ‘You’re “waiting for the world to change.”‘ That does actually fit – I was waiting for a day off or waiting for a day when I don’t go to work in the afternoon.

I’m actually not happy about moving Jacob to the apartment. I love having him outdoors. He will be outdoors again in the future, but keeping him locked indoors even for a few months makes me very unhappy. However, I cannot keep going back and forth to the tent UNLESS I HAVE A BATTERY FOR MY ELECTRIC BICYCLE. I need a battery for my electric bike, and I need to put the engine back on my bike, and if I have that, then I can drive around everywhere without triggering my chronic fatigue.

I was going to joke that Matthew is an angel, and if I say ‘send me an angel right now’ he might just materialize right here in my apartment, but I don’t want to inconvenience him – I don’t have an urgent emergency that requires him to drop what he’s doing and appear right here.

I do love him, very much. He causes me a special kind of terrible pain. It is deep and unbearable and very unusual. Conflictors are not a comfortable relationship, but it is indeed possible, and it does indeed happen, that sometimes they attract each other and even get married. I met other male conflictors before – Chuck at the UU Church – and he was attached to me, and always helpful, giving me hugs, always warm and friendly and loving – but spending too much time together exhausted both of us. It’s just that our brains are not able to process each other’s type of information properly. ‘Information metabolism.’ You want to take in particular kinds of information, and you want to output particular kinds, and you are looking for people who are giving out what you want to take, and who are happy to take what you are giving.

I had a dream about Mom the other night. She didn’t speak to me, and I don’t think I saw her face in the dream – I think I saw her from behind. She was working on a machine. It was a big white piece of plastic that kind of resembled the fry hopper from McDonald’s. She was putting metal rods into it, and this thing was supposed to produce steam.

I wonder about the ‘metal rods’ now, because Cyn told me she had metal rods in her spine. A ‘big white piece of plastic’ might be a piece of the vertebrae bones. But why is it supposed to produce steam?

Mom was always working on things and fixing things. She would fix the vacuum cleaner, for instance, or the pipes under the sink. Her type was ESTJ, my socionic mirror.

It’s painful to see someone in a dream, but they don’t look at you or speak to you. It’s just like the children in ‘Inception,’ when he’s lost his children, and he sees them in the dreams, and they never turn to look at him, and he can’t see their faces. That is the saddest part.

When you bear children, they continue your face. Your children should have your face in them, so that you remain alive after your death.

Something interesting about lookalikes, human races, and personality types: Mary Jo (ESTJ), the lady I rented a room from several years ago, where I got Max and Jacob from the previous tenant – she had a daughter, and the father was a man from Africa when she was over there. Her daughter had straight hair and looked 100% Caucasian, and her daughter also seemed to have the ESTJ personality type. This fits with the socionic visual identification theory, where particular personality types have particular faces. But it’s even more interesting because of how she looked like she had no African in her at all. If she had had an INFJ child (let’s pretend the father was her dual, the INFJ), would it have looked African like the father? I actually have no idea about the father’s personality type – it could have been anything.

Anyway, Mom, I heard that song you wanted, but I didn’t have a cassette tape with me.

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