The loudest and most gratifying burps surface after gulping Coca-cola. I let one rip at the office today. Everyone was so busy, I think no one noticed. That’s a lie. Someone always notices. In small spaces that are occupied by many people who are seemingly preoccupied with their own menial tasks, someone always notices. As a matter of fact, on this floor, in this new building, with its exposed ceiling beams and artsy-fartsy deco walls that CARRY sounds even Helen Keller could hear, someone always notices. I declared from Day 1 that we moved here, “I hope no one ever has a fight with their significant other on the telephone or the “world” will hear it.” Am I psychic? Nope. Was I proven correct today? Yup.
It was sudden and unexpected like premature ejaculation. It made me so uncomfortable I squirmed in my seat. I tried to print something, anything, so that the sound of the wheels grinding and the paper rolling and the ink pressing inside my desktop printer would drown out the very sad occasion of relationship disappointment. I’ve been there. While I was initially embarassed and slightly flustered by the surprising, cataclysmic drama (and a few not-so-nice words to boot!), I was eventually overcome with empathy for both parties. Of course that was after the “OMG. OMG. OMG.” Insert: me panicking for people who aren’t remotely concerned about me. Then came the instant note to self: Lower your voice when you’re talking to your baby’s daddy on a day that he doesn’t quite get that the world is round. Have some patience and pick a tone conducive to office ears, so that the person who notices has empathy – or at the very least doesn’t discern the gritty details and blog about them should they be so inclined.
About this blogging bizness. I was driving home yesterday and feeling really good about the accomplishment of my first blog. If you didn’t get the memo, sorry for ya. You betta aks somebody! Then, it hit me. I don’t really like reading blogs. Hmmh. Yeah, I know. That’s some uppity shtupity stuff, right? It’s truth. I’ve had several people send me notes, emails, hints and such, to encourage me to read their blogs. Didn’t happen. I follow one. One. It’s an entertainment journal with a political slant. It’s funny. Nope. It’s frickin hilarious. I emailed the guy who writes it to personally ask if I could facebook friend him. *Facebook Friending: Another topic for another day.* So, I found myself asking the hard questions. How do you expect people to read your blog if you don’t like reading blogs? Okay, the hard question – singular. I must admit that I didn’t get any further than the first one. I pondered the question and searched for an answer. I thought and I thought, ’til I thought… “I’ll make me a man!” Too much thinking. Actually, that’s James Weldon Johnson, and I’m not God. I digress. Count yourself lucky. On another day, I might have digressed and not finished this blog. F.B. friending of another sort. Whew! Anyway, I’m stalling. This was my answer to me. I’m a writer. I write. You’re a reader. You read. End of story.
Persnickety Self-Adjustment: Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.