Without my missing alter, Funnygal, my life seems flat and as barren as my leafless front yard tree. I miss her humor and her ability to see the comedy in life’s daily little absurdities. In the words of an old Stones song, “I see a red door and I want to paint it black.”
I wonder if she and Jenny, my other a.w.o.l. part, are hiding out together. Are they taking a break from the daily stress of being my most functioning parts? Are they, as Keepers suggested, in hospital, suffering from being worn to a frazzle trying to keep our system running smoothly?
Could they, my resident writers, be silently rebelling the fact that I keep putting off the writing of the book which has been on my heart for so long?
Their faces won’t turn up on milk cartons with the caption, “Have you seen this child?” No breaking news report interrupting Oprah to share their missing status with the country. No hot-line to call, no flyers to hand out offering a reward for any info on their disappearance. No, this is an inside job from the get-go. I can’t even pay a ransom for their swift return, for their disappearance is voluntary. This is no kidnapping, it’s 2 unhappy kids running away. And to my great shame I admit I don’t even know exactly when they disappeared.
(My 2 missing “angels.”)