by s.a.Subject: [glass_onion] FIC: Unsaid (1/1) (Monk) Date: Saturday, August 03, 2002 1:09 AM Title: Unsaid Author: s.a. Rating: PG. Pairing: N/A. Disclaimer: Monk belongs to various production companies and big expensive people, none of whom are me. Don't sue; it's bad for your health. Spoilers: General Season One. Feedback: It's the best kind of crack. email: email@example.com Distribution: Hole in the Ground, http://hole.nodist.net -- List archives. Just ask. Author's Notes: To Ple, my other half. I was just playing around when this popped up. Who new? Show information can be found here: http://www.usanetwork.com/series/monk/ Who knows? I might get another Monkbunny. I kinda hope so. Summary: "Before I was ... this way, I said what was on my mind."
You don't understand what it's like to live in this mind.
Sometimes I want to say, "You look pretty, Sharona," or, "It's a nice day, Sharona."
Or, "Thank you, Sharona."
But the words won't come, because my hand will reach out to fumble against a telephone pole, or my eyes will begin to count the number of starlings on the tree. Everything I want to say gets diverted by these damned --
Before I was ... this way, I said what was on my mind.
I'd say that I thought the coffee needed to be better, or that the Giants were going to the playoffs.
But now I have to make sure the coffee cup is clean, and count the number of creamers that go into it. Now I can't watch TV, because I never stay on one channel and you get frustrated with me and grab the remote from my hand and turn the TV off.
Trudy and I used to go to the park, and we'd sit on the bench and watch the parents and their kids and their dogs walk past.
Now, if I want to sit on the bench, I have wait for you to hand me one of those antibacterial wipes. And when I do sit down, and try to watch the people passing by, I (one) end up (two) counting them (three) as they (four) pass (five) ...
So I stay home; I'll read, or wash the counter again, or think about what happened that day. And when you and Benjy stop by, I can let my mind rest for a moment.
Benjy will tell me about his day, and I'll listen, even though half the time I don't know what he's talking about. My mind will wander a bit, filled with thoughts of kids and germs and public transportation, but then you'll start dinner, clanking pots and making messes that I wince over but try to pretend don't happen. You'll yell from the kitchen when Benjy says something wrong, or there's something you remind him about, and I'll let my eyes go back and forth like I'm watching a tennis match.
It's peaceful in a way only I could understand. You'd look at me like the crazy person you think I am if I told you. I just like to be taken out of my own mind. You do that for me.
I may never be able to say it. It's too hard, and I get distracted too easily. But I mean it.
Thank you, Sharona.
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