August 17, 1998
Bluer Than A Hairy Pop-Tart


I am "in the doldrums," as they say. Bluer than that hairy Pop-Tart I threw away yesterday. Uncomfortably numb. Melon collie, baybee. 

And I'm not even sure why.

I came home from work awhile ago, and my little apartment was as still as a tomb. The one and only message on my answering machine was a hang-up: my only piece of snail-mail, an advertisement from Beneficial Oregon, Inc., offering me a $2,000 Instant Cash Loan, subject to credit approval. (Great! Can I have that in nickels?? That'll be my bus fare for the next forty years.)

I checked my e-mail: a couple of revolting Internet sex ads (not even amusing enough to post on the website) ... another barely-literate reply to my circus midget ad (excuse me all to HELL here, but was not my ONE & ONLY actual *requirement* that they be "able to construct a literate sentence, first and foremost"???) ... and an e-mail I sent to myself from the office ("just wanted you to know I was thinking about you").

I feel as though I am completely alone on this planet. Forgotten. Abandoned. Isolated.

Wahhhhhh ... as *Someone* would no doubt say, with absolutely zero sympathy. Poor little me.

I suppose that's why I gave into the utterly bone-headed impulse to post that personal ad online the other day ... because I do feel so alone here in Oregon, occasionally, and because even though 99.9999% of the time I'm perfectly OK with my aloneness -- it WAS my idea, after all -- there are still moments when I wish I had someone to sit down and have an actual face-to-face conversation with ... a conversation, that is, that doesn't revolve around:

1.) Bill and Monica and Hilary and Ken and Ted and Alice.

2.) Automatic knives.

3.) All the stuff that is hideously fundamentally wrong with me as a person.

4.) Weather.

I don't even want romance. (Much.)  I really truly honestly really truly honestly don't. (Much.)  I've been there/done that lately.  It was great while it lasted.  It didn't last. There was hell to pay when it ended. 'Nuff said.

I just want ...

Shit. I don't know what I want.

I want somebody  --   SOMEBODY, mind you, as opposed to *Someone*  --   to think I'm wonderful, I suppose. That's all. Not too much to ask, is it?

*Someone* called me at work this morning, btw, and asked me if I wanted to have lunch. He showed up at my office at 12:30 with a submarine sandwich and two bags of chips. We drove to the end of the dead-end street where I work and sat in his car, eating lunch and listening to Oliver North on the radio. *Someone* went on and on about his favorite topic in the universe  --  how Bill Clinton is a lying fornicating adulterous cheating lowlife bottom-feeding scumbag who deserves prison and/or immediate castration, preferably with a dull Benchmade Knife, preferably televised live on CNN  --  while I sat there, silently screaming "SMILE at me! Say something NICE to me! Laugh at one of my jokes! Tell me my new haircut looks OK! Brush your fingertips across the top of my ARM!" But of course nothing like that happened. We ate our sandwiches, and I asked him to pick up some lightbulbs for me at the hardware store later. He drove me back to the office and I thanked him for lunch. I jumped out of his car  --  no kiss goodbye, no "see you later," nothing like that, ever, even when we were living together  --  and I went back to my office and that was pretty much that. It left me feeling flat and empty for the rest of the day. I'm sure it's why I'm in such a funk tonight.

The thing is ... he and I are just friends. We have no actual "relationship" anymore. Our friendship is based on proximity and convenience, rather than shared interests or actual affection. He knows it and I know it. And although it's nice to have someone to do stuff with ... someone safe and familiar ... it just reminds me, once again, of the incredible void that exists in my life these days.

I really don't feel like writing much else, if that's OK. I'm worn out. I'm going to drink a beer and cook some food and sit on the "gangplank" outside of my apartment, listening to the 7:00 Amtrak passing below me. 

I'll be OK in the morning.


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