Cataphasis (kat-af’-a-sis): A kind of paralipsis in which one explicitly affirms the negative qualities that one then passes over.
It was frayed, stained and had a hole it in it. Ir smelled like sour cream, and it was stiff in places. But it was my blanky. My partner in life. My consolation in a cold and brutal world. I spread it out over my comforter every night, for extra comfort and peaceful sleep.
I was 32 and I cherished blanky. I had joined a blanky support group for people like me. There were five of us. The oldest was 63. His name was Herman Mellon and he had named his blanky Millicent and he carried her everywhere in a briefcase so they would never be apart. No matter where he was, he’d find a rest room and air her out by snapping her in front him and then carefully folding her and placing her back in his briefcase.
Then, there was Betty Fielding who had made her blanky Herman into a turban—Herman the Turban. She called herself the Mystic Genie and told fortunes in a little booth on the boardwalk down by the beach, Her blanky turban was her “swami hat” and added to her credibility without revealing her blanky fixation.
Mel Bordon was a long-haul truck driver, He had cut a hole for his head in the middle his blanky. He called his blanky “Poncho” and wore it like a poncho on his x-country jaunts, stopping for Mexican food at his favorite places on his route. His poncho doubled as a bib and was stained with chile and guacamole, but he loved its feeling around his neck—making him feel safe like a little baby in his truck cab crib.
Barbra has fashioned her blanky into a chic skirt. She has it dry cleaned once a week. It is pink with little blue teddy bears blowing trumpets printed on it. It was very cool looking and she was frequently complimented on it, but little did anybody know, when it was at the dry cleaners, she cried herself to sleep at night—even a warm ba-ba was no help. But, she respected her blanky’s need to be clean, sacrificing her own comfort for her blanky’s.
At our meeting we would share our latest blanky adventures. My stories were the most boring. I mostly shared my dreams I had when I was all tucked in with Blanky, which was what I boringly called him. Last night, we dreamt we were away in a manger and Blanky was covering baby Jesus and keeping him warm. I was baby Jesus and I blessed Blanky for his charitable gesture.
Mel had misplaced his briefcase with Millicent in it and considered committing suicide. Luckily, he had found it. He was ready to stick his hand in the garbage disposal when he saw his briefcase’s reflection in his kitchen window, sitting right there on the kitchen table. He thought that he was losing his mind until he opened his briefcase and gave his Blanky a rubdown. Then, all was forgotten.
The rest of the group had equally compelling stories to tell, but it’s my bedtime and my Blanky is waiting to usher me into beddy-bye for nighty-night-night. I take a deep sniff and begin to go sleepy. I’m hoping to finish my dream tonight about me winning the lotto and starting a blanky farm in New Hampshire.
