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Being ignored truly is the worst punishment imaginable

The sudden drop in temperature literally ignited a fire at Les Pierres, chasing us back again into our tiny living room, simultaneously serving as kitchen, dining room and shared workspace and, now that the rain is causing much less disarray for them to be involved in outside, we have to share its opulence with our darling cats too, claiming the best spots for their own convenience.

It will take a while for the corresponding level of physical ignorance to descend internally, the unrealistic denial of each other’s presence, enough to feel comfortable throughout and still be allowed to focus on private activities without the associated quietness and the eliminated distractions of the separation possibilities we had become so fond of during summer.

Technology helps, like earplugs providing protection from unsolicited conversation, essential tools were you to believe Ivory in his quest to avoid a chatterbox like me, his less friendly qualification of my tendency to form my opinions interactive, talking out loud, and my need for confirmation to always have been heard, regardless the urgency.

For a garrulous person like me, for whom unrelenting dialogue bestows the optimal fuel to keep my mind from stalling, being ignored truly is the worst punishment imaginable, maddeningly effective applied by former friends, so fed up with me that they’ve cut me out of their lives as if I was never part of it. Being particularly keen on connecting everything with all, it is intolerable when shared memories are irreversibly and one sidedly altered like that, leaving inexplicable holes in my own narrative, so over the years I have mastered a technique of staying in touch with those apostates, as I knew and once loved them, keeping our discussion going in my head.

I glowingly admire the inexhaustible drive of the red Nasturtiums we grow, having ignored them completely when they were under utmost siege from all kinds of pests, superficially because this was the purpose of their presence, keeping these menaces away from more important crops. They now rise beautifully again, against all time and logic, demonstrating true survivors suffer disregard in silence. Don’t tell Ivory that.

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