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Effortlessly Average

Sort of half-heartedly leading the charge into mediocrity since, oh, let's say around 1987 or so.

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Location: Roaming (additional charges may apply), Argentina

Proof that with internet access and a powerful laxative, even insipid people will blog; the place where your excellence and my mediocrity collide; where my Karma whips ass on your dogma.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Terra Incongnita

I'm around people. Make that I'm around -comma- people. Of course I'm around people too; it's not like I'm a hermit or something, but now that this already ranks as a 9.6 on the stupidshit-o-meter, let's just stop this line of thought before it even gets off the ground.

I'm feeling confused a lot lately. I don't know how to do what I've been asked to do. I feel dismissed and discarded, and I'm reminded of it every day. Yet nevertheless I want to come through; for the kids and her. She may not hold me in her heart any longer, but dammit she had years to "egress" me (yeah, the sense of humor's not dead yet) from her heart; I'm still early in year one of that process. Maybe in six years I'll feel as she does today. I suppose the hardest thing to handle is feeling as if even my existence doesn't matter so much; not that she wishes ill upon me, but that she just doesn't think about me; like navel lint or Bananarama. And if I'm wrong - as I'm sure she'd say I am - she never lets on that this isn't the case, so how am I to know? Isn't it at least understandable that I'd get this impression since I have no evidence to the contrary? It's hard to accept feeling inconsequential by someone. Fuck, I grew up with someone who treated me that way; I never thought I'd feel that same indifference in my adulthood. I've read in a couple places recently that one should "never make a priority out of someone who won't even consider you an option." But I find that's harder to do when you still have very strong feelings for that someone.

So the long and short of it is that I'm not posting this week because, well, do you really care about my woes? Really? Right, of course not. Why would you? I could be anyone really, isn't that right? And we all suffer the slings and arrows life lobs our way, so why come to EA to hear the mindless diatribe of someone you don't even know? It's like living in Albuquerque but watching the local news from Bozeman. So, no post is good news, or something like that. I may be incoherent, but I have an out because I'm also a little baked. Now all I need is someone with whom to share it. And that's you -comma- people. Don't you feel honored?

I go through my day-to-day, somehow stringing together whatever's required to tie sunrise to sunset, never letting on to the world around me that I feel a gaping hole inside. I arrive to work in the morning, tossing salutations to those I pass via the thin lipped eyebrow raise as I wend my way through the cubicle farm to my own domain: the tiny kingdom of Gemeinschaft, of which I am the supreme ruler. My loyal subjects are her-schtapler and frau-holepunchten. Apparently we're Bavarian. Who knew?

Anyway, I try to write something here and there, but as I sit at my computer, I stare at the blinking cursor and it just stares right back. Ok, actually it blinks right back at the frequency of 70 blinks per minute. And posts not inspired are posts that my daughter's rat would be embarrassed to have lining her cage.

Oh, you know what I read today? A medical report that claims bar-b-queuing is bad for your prostate. Imagine my dismay: here I had plans to BBQ my prostate this weekend and now I can't, at least if you believe the brainiacs who wrote the report. I guess I'll just have a steak instead.

And as a side note, do you realize that "embargo" spelled backwards is "o-grab-me?" That's not an important fact, just something I remembered and in my mild inebriation it made me chuckle. But then again, I also snicker every time I hear, say, or think of the word "pork." And yes, I just chuckled when I wrote it.

Beyond the sham that is my level-headedness right now, I have to say I need something. I crave intimacy. All I've ever wanted was to feel desired. I never thought that was too much to ask. My mistake was in trying to force it. I should have asked more questions and made fewer demands. Now the tatoo on my arm will remind me for the rest of my life what's been torn from me. Fuck, that really hurts. More than I'm intelligent enough to articulate. There have been times over this last several months that I've stood in silent anguish, watching her just walking away, wondering how she can cast to the fire what had been, to me, a successful marriage, and I'm left with the feeling that if my chest were a cannon it would have blasted my heart into the empty chasm between us. I know you can't fill that gaping wound with alcohol, but I'm trying. Ok ok, not really all that hard, but I have to admit I understand that compulsion of addicts and alcoholics, even though my sense of responsibility overrides my overwhelming desire to just tune out for a while.

I need something big; something to remind me of who I am; what I'm able to do. And I've got something in mind, but I'm not going to share it; not just yet. I've got some checking to do before I know if I'm even going to be able to make it work, then I'll share. Of course you, my friends, won't think it's all that big a deal most likely, but to me... I need this. I feel like I've been wrong; so wrong for so long. And just when I thought I was about to embark on the greatest adventure of my life (aside from parenthood), the ground fell out from beneath my feet. I need to figure out how to get that back.


Move along folks, nothing to see here...

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