Fish Wrapper: 2006.11.06
November 6, 2006Speaking on behalf of the two more subtle, clever anonymous posts here (because they’re the two I wrote), you mistake my intent. The intent is a soft dig. A ribbing.
Why? Well, frankly, I’m bored. But also I’m frustrated. Not like you think. I’m no scorned lover. I talk of the undeniable traits: the stiff upper lip, the vocal challenge to those who’ve seen your soft underbelly. To those you believe do you harm.
I write for those you push off, for those you needlessly apologize to — for those that like the you-you and not the business-minded big-girl small-town college graduate pin-up you try to be. I write for those that watch you hide. And from what? You hide from you.
Anyway, I’ll stop writing. You obviously don’t like it. Which is fine, I suppose, as long as you realize two things: there are people that care — people with heavy hearts from watching you get consumed by the cruft. And realize that their capacity of caring is not limitless.
That’s all.
As for the third comment, well, I’ve got to question any guy that looks to George Costanza for direction. Unless he likes to beat it with clammy hands, alone, in the darkness of a quiet night. Did I say alone?