The Entirely Expected Result
6 April 1999
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The Entirely Expected Result
6 April 1999
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8:28 PM: Hey, looky here, it's the same time to within 5 minutes of when I broke down and started entries yesterday, and I don't have a widgin more of something to say now than I did then. Or then I did than. I hate Quark. A whole lot.
Mostly I just want to tick the clock over. The problem with getting a reply you don't expect, is not getting the follow-up reply that you now do expect. This time, I promise, Charlie Brown, you know.
9:22: Did the earth move for you too? Eeep. It's so hard to tell, in these landfill-based modern buildings, when it's an earthquake and when it's just, say, the freight elevator. But that was pretty vigorous, whatever it was.
10:20: Occurs to me that there's elliptical and bloody obscure. So clarify, I will, hmm, yes. You may recall that my resolve to not be dumb finally cracked this weekend, and I left voicemail for Mary, an ex-girlfriend from 10 years ago that I have never really gotten over, and who has been haunting my dreams and even my waking life lately.
I didn't think I'd get a reply, but I did, in email. And it turns out that she's not married with children, what I had - well, expected? more like, told myself to keep from thinking about it - and is instead single with pets. Happy unto herself, and certainly more of a success than I ever came close to being, but still having "to reconcile myself with the fact that I simply am not going to have a normal life."
So? So, this is my basic "Ha, You Wish" scenario, save for one small ingredient: any interest in speaking to me, more than once or twice. What has followed since, therefore, is quite predictable. I reply, and now hear nothing. I could just be impatient, sure. And sure, maybe I might also have profited from not saying that I spend my time doing things like "Cataloging my regrets." But this is Bus Syndrome, that's all. The more important it is that you be on a bus, the more likely it is to pull away just as you are almost in reach of it.
A tedious tale, isn't it? Very high school, and not even any vampires to liven it up. Good enough to scramble egg my brain, though. I'm almost afraid to go to sleep. What this proves above all else is that, honestly, I have no idea what goes on in other people's minds. Not a clue. I wouldn't have said that I needed a reminder of that, but apparently so.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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