Mister J, my friend: April one 2009
I wasn't in any mood to mail you anything, but enough of a letter arrived from guess who, that evoked some 10½ feet of seven inch wide script on the twelve inch tall page sides of my current diary. And then: I began a line-by-line, word-by-word response, wherein I tried to not only dissect and rebut, but to attempt to soften any responses into safe and sane terms and not (hopefully) disturb the dear poorness she is so-obviously feeling/ experiencing/ obsessing, etc.
The pageside & a ½ single-spaced letter she wrote me is now about three pagesides long, adding in my line-by-line ers; and I am currently laying these responses out in seperate lines following quotes in italics of her letter's text, with my comments in straight-up standard script.
The equinoctal extra emotional energy in that window must have been when Jadene either visited you guys or maybe upon arriving home after stewing over the visit for the three-hundred mile drive back home. I haven't advised her about this prime factor. worthy of considering, in her already shaky mood management attempts; and probably won't for now. Nor will I repeat stuff I've already covered with her about toxic envirostress' definite (overall) effect upon one's ever-necessary attempts to contain their darker impressions, etc. And will not thrust any politicalspeak upon her, as it makes no sense to add defeatist negatives into her already difficult mental/ emotional mix.
In a short neatly-scribbled note accompanying my first page of 'translation' sent off to her as a sample of what is to come, I guess. I will and am making the effort to assist in resolving the, at times, seeming irresolvable. Feel up to the challenge to couch my responses in as respectful a tone as my tiny pea brain might conjure. The Paul Fourman in me reminds myself that I know how, from his exemplary example, to sit or stand quietly by and either listen (or pretend to); and to venture polite considerate, non-hostile responses in a quiet reserved tone that always drove his message home to us more noisy sides of his family, and I try harder than I really want to, to treat her with the kind of kid gloves that Paul did with us. As I'm sure you understand just how difficult any effort such as the one I have now committed to—at least as my replies to this particular letter are concerned—may loom. I am still willing to do no harm, nor inflict further stress upon her in any way. My threat, as it manifests itself in her thought processes, is solely a figment of her conceptual mind. I am just about so absolutely no threat of any kind, anymore; wouldn't you agree?
So, anyway: As you have some relation to this, I thought to keep you in the loop, as it were, so that you might'nt worry whether or not her entreaties were falling on deaf ears or not. Adoom, for all of his shortcomings, faults, and general irresponsibility is, nonetheless, on the J – O – B. As to whether or not anything comes of it is still up in the air and must be consigned to the gods for a spell, in order to wait for gestation, if any, is to occur. Flowers and fruit are so way far down the line yet that all we can do is consign those hopes and dreams to on hold status for some more months and years.
The printout on the backside is only page one, of probably about ten or twelve in that format.
So, anyway: Be good (?) and think gentle on your sister, mother, and me, won't you: Gentle.
Hang in there, bro, and have some fun for me when you can get away with it (harr harr) Đàđ
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