A Professional Dilettante

Stephen, I need your help.

…

Stephen, are you there?

Oh, so I am to be at your beck and call, am I?

No.  It’s more that I’m at yours.  But I need your help.  Really, truly.

You cannot need my help that badly, if you can stop to play a game of solitaire in the middle of asking me.

Solitaire is an avoidance mechanism.  You know that.

What are you avoiding, pray tell?

You really do want to know?  That’s- that’s great.  I need you to get me  I need to get out of my head.

You need me to get you “out of your head.”  I see the strikethroughs, dear.  What makes you think I am capable of doing that?  I am not much of anything except a burden.

Is that how you feel?  Honestly?

I am sick.  I am basically helpless as you have written me.

You won’t be by the end of the book.  I promise you.

Right now I am quite positive you could not write me out of a paper bag.

I know.  That’s why I need your help.

You wish me to do your job?

My job is to take the dictation.  Your job is to talk.

Well, and so.  I had not thought of it that way before.  Then shall we get started?

Mirrored from Repeating History.