I have lots of friends who have found that significant otherness – be it a person who loves them infinitely, or just a place where they can feel free to be themselves without too much hassle.  People who have found their bliss.  I’m so jealous.  I’ve been searching, and it’s like that scene in “Spaceballs” where they’re combing the desert and the one guy says “We ain’t found shit!”  I suspect that I’ve been looking outside of myself for these things, and clearly the search needs to be focused inside.  But maybe that is just clap-trap and hooey.  All I know is that some people seem to just find their path right away, and some of us can think we’re on it, have the rug pulled out from underneath, and then spend countless lifetimes trying to recapture that point in time when things actually seemed to be going right.

I’m not trying to absolve myself from blame in all of this.  I’m just trying to work out the whys and wherefores of my soul being crushed and trampled like so much cereal that got dumped on the floor when someone’s dog managed to get the cupboard open.  Trust me, there are several specific moments in the past that I can pinpoint where I made a choice to zig instead of zag, and I wonder “what if…” and then it just makes me wonder if even stooping to ponder theoreticals is worth the energy I should possibly be spending making new choices to improve my situation.  Ouroboros in full butterfly effect mode.  Instant rabbit hole, just add self-doubt of a crippling intensity.  Kind of like the Wonder Twins of grief:  form of bucketful of self-doubt; fill with potions of a depressant nature!  And why do the Wonder Twins have a monkey named Gleek exactly like how the two kids that hang out with Space Ghost have a monkey named Blip?  Substitute the transformative uselessness of vaguely asian twins turning into some kind of water and vessel with which to transport said water for aryan space humans turning invisible.  What if they got drank?  What then?  How is that a super power?  At least being invisible has advantages.

But I digress.  I came across the above paragraphs recently, having originally written them in August, when I was still mired in my previous dead-end job in a warehouse.  Lately, I’ve not been writing much, because I’ve been trying to adjust to my new job and its slightly different schedule and its different effects on my body and mind.  It’s mostly good and I’m happier than I’ve been for a long time.  I no longer dread going to work and I’m actually enjoying working most of the time.  Sure, I miss having my nights free, but mostly it just keeps me out of trouble on some nights, although on other nights, I tend to try to overachieve in my intake of libations to somehow make up for it.  Not the best plan.  I’m working on leveling it off.  Don’t worry too much.

Which brings me to this week’s installment.  I’m going to continue with my shake-up of the timeline, and present you with another “freshie” that was actually sent the same night that I published the last post.  I think that a month is enough time to elapse to declare this a letter never responded to.  This particular letter makes me laugh a lot, and I hope it makes you laugh, too (but with me, and not at me, but I might be okay with you laughing at me, because I know I am a silly man).  I think I should point out at this time, that sometimes I DO get responses, and in fact, I recently did meet up with someone from OK Cupid for a lunch date. And I should be meeting up with someone else from OK Cupid for sushi soon, if the hurricane doesn’t destroy us all.  I merely share these letters with you, dear loyal readers, because I am an attention whore, and I require validation for my self-perceived wit on a constant basis, because I am still insecure about it, even though I believe myself to be a talented writer, and my writing friends actually talk positively about my writing to each other without me knowing about it.  But mostly, I just like to laugh at myself.  Here’s another opportunity to join me as I laugh at myself.  I’m proud of this one.

Dear Ms. Lovetolurk,

I’m not sure at the present time if I actually believe that you are a real woman who exists, and not just some Kelly LeBrock in “Weird Science” experiment, put together by two horny teenage nerds. Or at the very least, something akin to those fake profiles from Russia that have sent me messages. I mean, there’s the Snark Factor (set to warp snark), the air of mystery, and the promise of being such a party monster that someone would obviously have to die. Definitely seems to good to be true. Back when Myspace was in its infancy, my brother was fooled into developing feelings for a girl from the midwest who wasn’t really real. I mean, she herself was a real person, but not the person she represented herself as being. She had stolen the photos from a girl she didn’t even know from California.

Sadly, I am missing one of your valued qualities – ie, happy feet. My feet are grouchy. Although last week, when pre-gaming for my birthday, somehow I had so much to drink that I did actually start dancing for no reason. But the week before, on my radio show, I even went on a rant about dance music, and how it and I have never really had a good relationship. I think it has something to do with a complete lack of rhythm on my mom’s side. Hell, even my gay uncle can’t dance!

Well, moving right along because I clearly haven’t done enough to get you to click the delete button yet, I am going to sign off now so that I can try and post to my blog before going to sleep. I am so 2002. Goodnight, and good luck in your bid for total OKCupid dominance.

Sincerely yours,
J (not a robut)