Mathilda and Max: My New Imaginary Friends

Writing about myself is, although egotistical, ethically acceptable. Moreover, I think it’s OK to say “Suzanne did X at the winery…” or “Ron ran out and took photos for me.” And, I think it’s OK to poke fun at Brandi and Jessie for encouraging me to attend a Jazzercise class, even though I about died half way through.

This blog is about me, and therefore, of necessity, about the people with whom I interact. However, I don’t have the right to refer directly to an individual’s personal situation, even if I use that situation as a thinking point for myself.

An example is several days ago, when I mentioned the death of the mother of a friend. And I mentioned the friend by first name. I wasn’t announcing her mother’s death; rather, I was spinning off my own thoughts of my own father’s death this time last year. Regardless, in retrospect, I don’t think that I had the right to use this person’s name, even if it is only the first name. She and her personal experience came into my life, and I incorporated her name into my own story. I feel uncomfortable doing so.

Therefore, I have two new imaginary friends; Mathilda and Max. To the extent that it doesn’t become confusing or ridiculous, Max and Mathilda will be stand-ins for real people in my life. I have no idea of Max’s origins but I’m pretty sure that Mathilda comes from Jacques Brel.

So whenever Mathilda or Max appear, know they are the faces of real people.