I understand that narrative does much to maintain the attention of a mind, hold it fast so it does not stray, or muse, or drift off on it's own and get lost. Narrative gathers tasty ingredients, allows them to drip, little bit by little bit in a manner that is well calculated, or sneaky. And there are times when I wish I could tell a story. But I have found that a fence exists between me and narrative, and I know this fence well enough to have considered giving it names. "Craft-less-ness," is one of them. "Idleness," is another. "Boring," perhaps. "Why care," is yet another. And then sometimes I attempt to apply some part of the word "purpose" to this fence. Which is an error, because when any part of the word "purpose" is applied to this fence, my reaction is to follow this fence to find it's beginning, wonder at it's nature, and usually I come away understanding this fence as a relative thing between you and I, rather than something to climb over, into newer and probably more exciting territory that might be called, "Volume."
Yesterday during the "Butter and Gravy Binge of December 4th," or as some might call it, "The Alternative Thanksgiving," an Actor on the television provided a facial expression, which in the context of the narrative, produced in me what might be called "narrative envy." Alone and out of context, the expression could have run the gambit from some dire intestinal collapse, all the way to death by broken heart or a consequence of having laughed too much. Nor am I suggesting that value can't be gained from an exploration of any one of these or other interpretations. But in the context of "the narrative" it was an expression I will interpret as the 'duress of mental failure.' The unfortunate character's mind wasn't working properly, and he was beginning to stare at the prospect of existing with a lunacy while engaged to an egotistical and somehow saintly responsibility for others. And no doubt the actor was applauded for his excellent portrayal of so terrible a loneliness. I certainly applauded him, and came away with a name for the fence that lies between me and narrative. I'm going to call it Gary, because Sinise, even though a more wandering or titillating word, is very confusing to look at.