posted by dave on Thursday, June 4, 2009 at 7:24 AM in category daily, ramblings

I'm at Denny's early today, or maybe I'm here late last night. Whatever, it's 3:49 right now, so it's something fucked up.

It's very crowded here right now. And LOUD. At least 90% of the noise is coming from the corner booth, and at least 99% of that noise is coming from one person, a somewhat round girl who I shall call Loudy McLoudandfat. Her cackling is threatening to liquefy my bones. That would be gross.

The remaining 10% of the noise, itself almost ear-splitting, emanates from a group of guys dorks playing some kind of trivia game at the center table. I'm fairly certain that sexual favors are being wagered, and that they don't really care who wins the game, because they'll all get to "win" later in the parking lot. Hint hint wink wink.

And finally, over in the corner, is an old guy, as quiet as I am and probably as miserable as I am because of these auditory assailants.

My plan, such as it was, was to come here and scribble out a quick entry, then have breakfast with DoableGirl. My plan, such as it was, did not include arriving at 3:45 in the flipping morning. So now I've got to improvise. I've got at least another hour to kill, and I don't know if I've got an hour's worth of words inside me, straining to escape. I guess I'll find out.

It's hard to stay in a writey mood in this place. Usually it's too quiet. Sometimes, like this morning, it's too loud. It's weird, though, that I can sit in a bar and write for hours but in this place even 15 minutes seems too long. It's not that different from a bar.

Anyway, earlier tonight I was thinking about my readers. Not any of my specific readers, but my readers in general. My generic readers.

Some of you people have stuck with me for years. Out of habit, possible, the inertia of interest that's long since faded. Or maybe that's not fair. Maybe there's still genuine interest out there somewhere, a curiosity, perhaps, about what exactly the fuck happened.

Those readers, the curious ones, are owed something. There's a debt there. There's always been an unspoken agreement. I write about my life, and people read it. Well, I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain lately, and I know it. The more that people read my irrelevant drivel, the more into the red I sink.

I fear, however, that this is a debt which will never be repaid in full. There are too many things about which I simply cannot write. Too many feelings to be hurt, too many fingers to point, and too much blame to assign.

See, this blog isn't about me, and it hasn't been about me for a very long time. It's been about something else. A feeling or a desire or a question or an answer, all intertwined and all pervasive. Everything that I wrote was about that. Everything, even if it didn't seem that way to those of you reading. And now it's got too stop. It's become just too damn intense.

Luckily, this blog is no longer about that thing at all. Now, it's about trying to survive even as I wonder if I want to survive.

And, as long as I'm being forthcoming, nothing I've written has been written for me, or for you generic readers out there in Internetland. Nope, all of it, every single word that I've written in the last half-decade, has been written to and for one very specific reader. A reader who is probably wondering, as she reads this sentence, "Is he talking about me?"

Of course I am, silly girl. And that also has to stop. Again, way too intense.

Now, where was I going with all this drivel?

Doesn't matter, because my date is here. It's about time. I'm starving.

comments (8)

RE: Denny's "It's not that different from a bar." Oh contraire! Fluorescent lighting . . . nothing illuminated by that source is done so in "it's best light". Also, you don't have music with which to lose / focus yourself on, but rather the clanking of dishes and flatware as they make their way in and out of the kitchen, a sound I find rather jarring.

"Anyway, earlier tonight I was thinking about my readers. Not any of my specific readers, but my readers in general. My generic readers."

"what exactly the fuck happened" Unrequited love, we've all been there, done that, you simply hung in longer than most.

"Those readers, the curious ones, are owed something. There's a debt there." No, no, no. . . . you've got that backwards.

I stop by on a daily basis because I ab . . . . well first, let me start with why I came here to begin with.

An the kitty blog. . . . . I was so saddened by the way in which you learned of Happy's passing.

And finally your Main blog. . . the manner with which you turn a phrase or capture the inexplicable is truly a joy for me to read. Granted the content was sometimes repetitive, or frustrating to read but hey, no one had a gun to my head.

If anyone is indebted to anyone it is Me to You. I don't post often, I try to only post when I think there may be some form of nourishment in it for you. It is my offering to you, for what I've taken from your postings.

For example. You stated in an earlier post how you leveraged the pressure of societal expectations as a crutch. . . .

I used that exact sentiment in its entirety to express to my brother my concerns regarding his months of being unemployed. Not because of the money that no longer comes in. . . but because he isolates himself and he's left to his own thoughts, which for a guy with 165 IQ and some form of Aspergers/Autism/Schizophrenia/yet to be fully diagnosed inability to ignore the absurdity of the world we live in is not a good thing.

Anyway, you owe none of us generic readers a thing, if we're here, that in itself is enough, if it isn't, that's our problem not yours.

So, thank YOU~

If all I'd done had been to run out of patience, I'd have freely admitted to it.

The debt I feel is more to the people who've been here since the very beginning. Those people watched me die in 2004, and rooted for my resurrection all along. You've only seen the zombie version of me.

Well THEN you DID have specific readers in mind! You should've said so, because if anyone could articulate "those readers" it would be YOU. But no, I blather on an on. . . making a fool of myself. Hmph


I can't remember when I started reading you, but it surely wasn't when you died, because I didn't join JS until 12/28/04. I think I found this place (or, rather, the JS incarnation of it) a few months thereafter. So I've almost been around for the long haul!

It only took...oh, 3 years or so to get you to be my friend. Sheesh! :oP (And I'm glad you finally did!)

Yeah, well I'm all shy and stuff.

I prefer to say you're bashful. Makes me think of you blushing and digging the toe of your shoe into the dirt.

Okay, whatever floats your boat.

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