As mentioned once, I write this as a kind of log on what’s happening. I’m not sure what the purpose is, who will read it and how far I’ll get but what I do know is that I look forward to sitting down every evening to organize my thoughts, looking at the past week. It at least helps me stay anchored to a wobbling reality. It’s also become a place where a changing me is confronting the old Jenna, in understanding what’s happening and explaining it to me.

  It’s now a little over two months since he left. According to the stuff written, he began to notice things happening to him three weeks after the visit by the woman. I’ve been having a lot of ‘what ifs’. Time will tell but here’s what a book I’ve been reading on writing says about narratives. They have a life of their own. Once you start with a premise, then everything else should fall into place.

  I have finally understood that I’m changing but just how much has been the gnawing question. So, what if that woman was real and that kiss, he describes was real and what if she did something during that kiss like what if she passed something on and it grew and changed him. What if me grabbing him on the day before he left, and forcing a kiss was why he left and what’s happening to me. In other words what if the narrative I thought to be true, isn’t the correct one. What if all the stuff he wrote isn’t a sci-fi story for my twenty first birthday but my story now, the new narrative. My intuition tells me it is. It wasn’t the narrative that I had ever imagined or dreamed for me but now that I’m forced to own it, feeling initially like a mind fuck, the friend inside, who this time unlike the one at four years old, is very much alive and growing with whom the old just me becoming slowly acquainted.

  I became angry with him over him not wanting to kiss me during the last month. We were never big kissers anyway but, you know, it’s nice every once in a while, and he always pulled back giving lame excuses like he had a mouth sore or he hadn’t brushed his teeth or was tired. So in the middle of my workout, he came in to tell me he was going for a walk, so I just stared at him for a few seconds than quickly planted a big wet kiss despite him beginning to pull away and I saw his look, almost disgusted, and turning, walked out of the barn. I was going to finally confront him that night, but I fell asleep and the next morning, he and the old Dodge was gone.

  All week, I’ve taken early morning naked walks with Fubar through the still growing forest and have stopped at the same time to listen to what once was out of range. It has to be at least a few miles away and sounds like whirring. No voices or anything in construction work. So that goes on top of the to do list now. The scents are stronger as well as the tiny sounds like leaves moving, insect eating, dripping after a rain, all combine into an atonal musical landscape that was totally hidden before. Sometimes I shut my eyes and walk for a few hundred feet, both testing my sense of space, what’s called proprioception and to see without using my eyes.

  Starting to get color flashes, especially when the senses pick up a lot at the same time. Bobby mentioned what he called the synesthesia effect when all senses came together in a bright deep purple flash that meant warning for something even tho nothing was visibly present but never mentioned about those dangers. Everything acted subconsciously, he said, like a second mind or intelligence. The first time I got the flash out in the garden, I began locking the house at night.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I watch The Word with new eyes and ears. And am picking up much more than before. Sometimes I listen to it lying on the futon with Fubar. He watches it too, with ears twitching, his antennae. His intense stare sometimes is the same as when he sees or hears a mouse. I definitely think he knows what’s going on.

  The ThirdEye episodes are on once a week with the slightly anomie chixs saving lives and helping people create these self-sustaining grow pods, a cluster of dome grow houses with small, attached hobbit like homes surrounding a pond with a fountain of mist. Yesterday on episode 8, I was shown exactly what was on my mind and made me queasy enough to almost heave. This is what gives me the creeps, that every time I have an epiphany, if it’s correct, I’m rewarded with some form of a confirmation.

  One of them led an older boy out into the woods by holding his hand, put her finger up as if to stop him from talking, stood inches away from him and slowly put her mouth to his and passionately kissed him for a minute, pushing his hands away from her breasts. She than told him to live long and may the love that grows inside nourish the planet.

  I said, ‘well Fubar, I don’t think we’re in Kansas, anymore’, and he responded, ‘meeeeeooooooow’, and took off through the cat door.

  Every morning for the last week, when I wake up, I either stay in bed and run through the nights dreams or recollected memories like watching it again on one of the old streaming services or go for a fast walk or run. Up until a few nights ago, its just been visual but now there’s voices on top of voices that sound like noise. I’ve been wondering if Fubar has his own feline version. If animals are going through the same thing. The old blind soothsayer was screaming to no one that the planet is evolving out of Armageddon into something much more sinister.

  Are we? Where’s Bobby! Why didn’t he wait for me! Is he with that bitch! Can you be a bitch and evolved at the same time? No, I trust him, sorry Bobby. Are you waiting for me, maybe helping me.