Be Your Own Hero
Punctuation's relevance will never be appreciated until its demise, as chronicled in Comma's obituary, by L. MacPherson; MacPherson also shares her take on heroes. Volume I, Issue VI
ATLANTIC OCEAN (The TransAtlantic Pearl) – Remembered well for his articulate ability to introduce millions of meaningful concepts the Comma passed away last week after a long battle with apathy and neglect. Once the most frequently used internal punctuation in an English sentence his health had been in decline for some years. Though Comma was reported to be hanging on in a series of modifiers many including American and British journalists had limited his time even in this arena.
Well-known for his philosophical nature which gave millions the world over pause for thought and breath between ideas Comma was loved by many including Dates Addresses and Locations. Clauses remember him as their primary spokesperson. Said one clause tearfully who wished to remain anonymous “No one could introduce us the way he did. He gave meaning to our complexity. He worked hard to set us apart from others. We will never be the same in his absence.” Indeed many remark on Comma’s diligence and humility. Insiders state that even before his nightly hour of reading garbage hanging participles and split infinitives were taken outside without fail.
Conjunctive adverbs and transitional phrases remember him well for giving them much needed protection and now ponder their fate in what they term a “new era of transitional crisis”.
Quotes also question their ability to stand out from the rest in this post-Comma era of written language. “I envision a day when even I will fall” lamented one quote. “Our obsolescence is likely in years to come as we’ll simply be incorporated as if we were a part of the author’s stream of thought. We loved Comma like one of our own. He preceded us sometimes followed us and felt like our brother. He was a very hard worker. An indefinite and sad time is ahead for us all.”
Even numbers stepped forward to mourn the loss of Comma. In a statement provided by the Numbers in Accounting Union they noted “In recent years we saw him less and less but only through the fault of our recorders. However his death is not just our loss. Many will miscalculate our value in his absence. As a result we foresee an increase in audits for which taxpayers will foot the bill.”
Though occasionally maligned for his complicity in run-on sentences Comma had been exonerated numerous times. Supporters lobbied for educational programmes to help the masses differentiate Comma from his distant cousin Period though results were inconclusive. Comma also became enmeshed in the ongoing controversy over the World Wide Web’s negative impact on the English language. Many credit the Web as his biggest foe and the harbinger of punctuation’s complete demise.
As punctuational lobbyists continue to fuel the debate over the Web’s alleged intent to destroy grammar and forever embed misspelled words in the minds of readers analysts believe Comma’s passing may escalate tensions surrounding the issue. Several hate crimes resulting in vandalism to poorly-written signage have been reported across the US in just the last few days attributed to avenging punctuational marauders. According to associated social media accounts, marauders have stated that “no billboard without correct punctuation is safe” and vow to reinstate introductory clauses by force if necessary. A spokesman for the BBC an organisation renown for its progressive stance on punctuation noted that security has been stepped up.
Those closest to Comma have been clear however: they hope humanity will remember his extensive contributions rather than the controversies on the periphery of his work.
Comma is survived by his flying Aunt Apostrophe; Period; the Marks brothers—Exclamation and Question; Hyphen; Dots of Ellipsis; Mr. Colon and his wife Semi-Colon; and M-Dash who is expected to occasionally step in to aid Clause’s plight to retain some level of relevance. One insider notes many of Comma’s survivors also are in declining health though they are expected to attend services.
Memorial services will be held at the National Museum of American History Washington D.C. Date and time to be announced. There will be no interment but following erasure Comma’s erasings will be kept in an urn on special display in the museum’s basement. In lieu of flowers or donations all are encouraged to read Eats Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss.✿
Relationships are hard. We all know this. But, except for once, I manage to get myself into the strangest of relationships, relationships with the most unlikely, unsuitable and incompatible individuals possible. Astrologers have explained it’s because my Venus is at 29 degrees in Pisces. Called the “anaretic” degree, it is considered so close to the edge of the next constellation, that sound decision-making is critically impaired by the proximity of an interfering energy. Who knows how much merit this holds, but I can verify with utter certainty that I oft’ stand frozen betwixt one choice and another on most matters. I could write a literal handbook on analysis paralysis.
These strange relationship situations nearly always start with pity. And often include a sense that I don’t deserve anything greater, because, well, that one time when I picked really well and found the perfect soulmate, I went and ruined it. But those are subjects for another day, and perhaps with a licenced professional.
This time, I found myself with a slightly neurotic, mildly attractive, mildly intelligent research scientist, with whom I had little in common. Science was his religion, after all. But see, science spoils my poetry.
To make matters worse, this individual suffered from an absolutely abhorrent medical problem, the sort of health challenge about which you can speak to no one, not even family. Because, you know they’ll fear for you, and their fear will become your fear, and the chemical compound of fear and your pity will manifest into a giant writhing mass, an abject ball of awfulness, much like a fatberg. And the fatberg will roll over and suffocate you. The resulting five minutes of fame in local news over your untimely demise will only deface any integrity you ever had as a writer. So you tell no one.
About once a week, his medical issue would manifest. And the whole house would be turned upside-down. Literally. The situation precluded me from ever having anything nice. It necessitated a constant influx of inexpensive appliances and furnishings, which I kept to a minimum. He was sweet about it, of course, and terribly apologetic, but he had no control over it, nor could he. Despite all his efforts and continued research, he had not been able to find a cure.
I knew he wouldn’t harm me during these episodes. I had taken great measure of the situation and realised this was so. But still, week after week, this situation wore on. And I wondered, as I always do, how I got myself into this when my intentions had been so honourable at the outset. Meanwhile, my work was put on hold as I was obliged to clean up the resulting mess, replace what I couldn’t repair, and start again with a pale hope that maybe one day, this would no longer be necessary.
One week, before an episode was about to start, he came to me and gave me explicit instructions on where to put things and on how to interact with him after it started. His instructions constituted a new protocol and it was thought that we might alter the outcome. I agreed and proceeded to comply with this new procedure as events progressed. Slightly fearful, I put on a brave face. But, thankfully, it seemed to be working.
Still, the process wasn’t without effort. The night wore on. Sleep was a foregone conclusion. But after many hours, nothing had been broken, no furniture had been upturned. I watched him, at one point, as he reclined slightly on a cheap divan I’d found at IKEA. Amazingly, it held his weight. Even more surprising—he seemed better than usual, though each of his exhalations carried a faint grunt. I padded closer to him, bent down and kissed his forehead, and in our eyes, we could see that we both knew it would be okay this time. Not perfect. Not normal. But okay. I could discern the relief on his face, even through its temporary disfigurement.
I continued monitoring, exerting every ounce of will and determination I had to keep control of my emotions as well as fight on his behalf, in my spirit, whilst Beethoven’s sonatas played in the background, on perpetual loop. But there was no denying my fatigue. I sat, then, on the arm of an undisturbed sofa, and gazed thoughtfully into the night as it presented itself through a window.
I recalled the first time I found myself in a relationship that was utterly unsuitable and how then, my urge was to simply get in my car and drive away. I even did one night, after a particularly awful disagreement. I drove and drove and felt free for about ten miles, but then realised I had no where to go, really. So I continued on and up another seldom-used road, found a turn-around and parked there. I stayed there and slept, that night, in my car. It was an act of defiance, but that which deserved such was only my judgement. I wanted to run away but, except for the idea itself, I had few of the necessary components at my disposal to run anywhere.
In the morning, I drove back to the relationship that was built on nothing solid and which afforded neither of us any substance and tried to make it work, a little longer. In the meantime, I stashed away the real me, the internal me, into some safe, dark place so I wouldn’t be completely ruined, and carried on. I carried on, but not doing anything I wanted for my own life and happiness and success. Living, at that point, was wearing someone else’s shoes.
Was it so different, now? Here I was, trying to make a relationship work with a person I didn’t love any more than I loved anyone, which is to say I loved him tremendously, but in the agape sense. And there was that pity. I did most assuredly feel sorry for him.
I reflected on the level of care he required. I realised the situation would only be okay because of a great deal of effort on my part. And while I was only too compliant in such matters, I realised something else: I would never be able to write or find personal success as long as I looked after this person who required this level of care. Because, despite appearances, I required care — emotional care. Not that I am needy, but I do require an equal amount of reciprocal emotional care. And the only time I had ever received such, was that one time when I picked really well and found the perfect soulmate, before I went and ruined it.
I flinched at that realisation, then felt guilty for being selfish. This situation required sacrifice, and damn it, who would look out for those who need the help if not for sacrifice? If not for me?
But that real me, that internal me that so tremendously desires to make her way doing what she loves and in abundance — abundance of love, of prosperity, of hope and emotional support — she just wouldn’t stay stuffed away this time. No, this time, she stood up and told me to leave, and now. She explained that I kept sacrificing myself for others, even those who some regarded as heroes. But those heroes would never do the same for me. Even some who live heroic lives might not be your hero.
I looked over, then, at the man so many knew as the “Incredible Hulk”, as his massive body began to diminish in the early twilight, and realised it was time. Not to run away, but to run toward myself, and my life’s work and dreams.
And then, I woke up.✿
[From Journal of Dreams, an anthology of insights into one’s psyche through recorded dreams.]
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Additional Credits
Poolside photo by HM Grand Central Hotel.
I don't know if you saw my YT response to your reply, Lyndsey, but I love The TransAtlantic Pearl! Your comma obituary was so clever, including the sentences I had to read many times over. You didn't, however, mention the opposite end of the spectrum, the redundant and superfluous Oxford comma. My daughter and I have practically come to blows over this life-or-death issue.
In fact, I chalk it up to a psy-ops conspiracy to kill the comma! Was it not grammar obedience training, the grammar Gestapo, that first destroyed the comma's relevance? If, rather than substituting as a tidy little abbreviation for 'and', it was reduced to mere clutter, why not do a Marie Kondo and toss it out with the garbage! (I've never forgiven her for just throwing things out, btw, it's finding a good home for stuff that takes all the time and effort.)
The comma brings me joy! And while we're talking about turning punctuation into a totalitarian regime, who was given the authority to consign the single apostrophe to be imprisoned by the double quote? The single apostrophe connotes irony, the sly 'this word that I use shouldn't be taken at face value.' The greedy double had its function distinguishing actual quotes, it makes it confusing rather than clarifying that it encroached on the hapless apostrophe.
And don't get me started on the semi-colon only separating full sentences--that's what a period is for. What's left for the long series of complex phrases? Oh, that's where they mean to send all the out-of-work commas from texting. A prison camp muddling sense rather than ensconced elegantly between their candelabras of semi-colons!
ps I also posted a note on the second story, but you have to look at the YT to read it!
I'm throwing this comment out into the aether, just to see if it hooks a pearl. Inquiring minds want to know how you are, if you're okay? I sent a query through our friend Rat, who I met through you, but didn't hear an oyster bubble about you. Thinking of you fondly, always.