[The thing about not having a breakdown is it can feel exactly like having a breakdown. If he didn't know the difference, he'd sure fucking think things were at the breaking point. He's breathing weird. It's something to be aware of here. How can his mind be so overloaded and yet so empty at the same time? But he's not having a breakdown. Because he doesn't break. The difference is in whether or not you have control. Whether or not you let it go off the rails. This train might be on fire, multi-track drifting with no brakes, but it hasn't jumped the tracks. No matter how bad shit gets, or how cataclysmic the situation, he stays frosty. He's fine.
And now she calls him back. Incredible. He has enough presence of mind to be petty, at least after the picosecond of surprise has passed.
Well, he did what he came here to do. Not as elegantly as he'd like, but he got it done. They can't all be winners. He'll even admit that the way it went down is either pretty annoying or pretty embarrassing, but the latter is only possible if he has a sense of shame. Fortunately for him, he does not.
Now a pointless replica of Jane is accusing him of being mentally disturbed. It would actually be pretty funny if he wasn't forced to interact with her for the sake of getting shit done. As it is, it's just sort of insulting, which is another way to say annoying. Which is a good distraction from the current meta-real existential crisis he's uncorked, a temporeal emergency flowing too fast and too STRONG to put the stopper back into. So he decides to focus on that. Maybe have a little fun with it. Maybe just shut her down.]
No.
I am not dissociating. That's a pretty fucked up thing to suggest, actually. Or it would be if I had been talking to you.
Imagine if I'd actually wanted your help, and your first impulse is to tell me it's all in my head? Which it is, in a strictly literal sense. I'm not saying it isn't. My head is the only one with a brain capable of perceiving, let alone comprehending, the evidence of reality that I'm currently attempting to manipulate into proving its continued existence.
Anyway, it's been fun, but I don't see this going anywhere now, so I'm cutting this off before you get too invested.
[TEXT] (Doc Scratch Voice)
And now she calls him back. Incredible. He has enough presence of mind to be petty, at least after the picosecond of surprise has passed.
Well, he did what he came here to do. Not as elegantly as he'd like, but he got it done. They can't all be winners. He'll even admit that the way it went down is either pretty annoying or pretty embarrassing, but the latter is only possible if he has a sense of shame. Fortunately for him, he does not.
Now a pointless replica of Jane is accusing him of being mentally disturbed. It would actually be pretty funny if he wasn't forced to interact with her for the sake of getting shit done. As it is, it's just sort of insulting, which is another way to say annoying. Which is a good distraction from the current meta-real existential crisis he's uncorked, a temporeal emergency flowing too fast and too STRONG to put the stopper back into. So he decides to focus on that. Maybe have a little fun with it. Maybe just shut her down.]
No.
I am not dissociating. That's a pretty fucked up thing to suggest, actually. Or it would be if I had been talking to you.
Imagine if I'd actually wanted your help, and your first impulse is to tell me it's all in my head? Which it is, in a strictly literal sense. I'm not saying it isn't. My head is the only one with a brain capable of perceiving, let alone comprehending, the evidence of reality that I'm currently attempting to manipulate into proving its continued existence.
Anyway, it's been fun, but I don't see this going anywhere now, so I'm cutting this off before you get too invested.
Goodbye, Jane.