As I have stated in other places, I am
not the best when it comes to first impressions. Whether it be due to
my humorous physicality, my imperfect sense of decorum, or a
mathematical algorithm that ticktocks away in the background of my
life—Matrix style, I can not say. I spent a lifetime examining this
unbalanced equation to no avail. As many who know me can attest, it
is observable and disturbingly predictable. I see it as challenging
and part of my esoteric anatomy. An outsider looking in at a glance
would just say, “Tough break bud, better luck next time.” But the
astute oftentimes will declare after a year or two of paying very
close attention, “Oh by the gods, how can this be? That's
impossible! Run!”
And so it goes . . .
I and many others have come to the
conclusion that I am trapped in some sort of cosmic Mr. Bean-esque
melodrama where I have no artistic investment in the process other
than being forced to live out the script, repeatedly. Furthermore it
is a poorly cogitated and regurgitated script rendered up by a staff
of sadistic psychopathic writers caught in a memory loop.
You see, I'm the man at the dinner
party that drops his hors d'oeuvre down the bodice of the host, while
she is introducing the guest of honor. I am the man in a line-up that
gets fingered for the crime, even though I was far away, on the
corner of fifth and vine, eating a slice of gluten free pizza while
watching pigeons. I'm the sexist, racist, misogynistic, right wing,
liberal, anarchist, that deserves the rope because I entered a room
wearing brown socks on argyle socks day.
And so it goes . . .
As you can surmise, I have an entire
regime that I perform daily to keep this sadistic hijinks to a
minimum. It is costly, time consuming, and quite often exhausting. I
am certain a few of my friends that have made their careers in the
mental health field have a label for my behavior. My other friends
just enjoy telling others that I'm crazy. Which, when I say
other friends, I am only speaking about the ones that haven't
truly paid attention or are just too fearful of a world where such
mysteries can be possible. And as you can guess that I am over
careful when it comes to my presentment, you may also assume that I
apply this to my correspondence, blogs, social medias, and to my
writing. You can also be certain that on any given day five or ten
events will slip past my diligence and do their due damage. (And when
I say do-due I mean something else.)
This morning at 2:00 a.m., was one such
event.
I had fallen asleep late in the
evening, which I dislike because it creates patterns in my life that
I can not manage. After only a few minutes of sleep I woke with a
nagging feeling that something was amiss. The house was dark, quiet
and peaceful. So, I went to my computer and opened my facebook. It
has become a Pavlovian response for many of us. There I found an
urgent message from a friend concerning an opportunity in regard to
writing. It was essentially a timed event that looked as if it would
be over before morning arrived. So, this event demanded some
immediate attention and involved correspondence.
And so it goes . . .
Bleary-eyed and grumbling, I walked
through all of the required steps that this event demanded. Then
finished my missive with my usual close. I use it in nearly all of my
social circles. I use it on my blog posts. I use it because I mean
it. “Best Always!” It means, for me, many things. I wish you
the best. I hope you apply your best in all things. I offer you my
best. And I expect you to expect this from me. It is a genuine
appellation.
I proofed this letter, in my word
processor, at least seventeen times. Yes, I usually pre-write all of
my messages in a word processor first and then copy them into where I
am posting after I am satisfied with the results. I recommend this
for any of you that experience the same unbalanced life as I. I'm
sure there must be many of you out there. It's my tip for the day.
And so it goes . . .
I then copied the document and all of
its appropriate attachments into the email, and read it seventeen
more times, making a few adjustments. Satisfied, I closed the letter
and hit send. I took a deep breath and congratulated myself on waking
when I had. I thought about fetching a cup of coffee, I thought about
opening Daughter of the Laughing God and catching my word
count early. Then something on my screen caught my eye. It was the
normal notification given after sending a message. It read, 'Message
sent. See sent message?' By clicking on it one is taken to the
message. I thought, Sure friend, let's see how you'll look on the
other end. And so I clicked it.
I read
through the missive an eighteenth time, and sighed as I came toward
its end. It looked quite safe. I was quite pleased. Then my eyes fell
upon the close. It read: Beat
Always, Kevin and
Eric.
And so
it goes . . .
Perhaps
an hour passed while I sat nonplussed, staring at the screen. Tears
formed in the corners of my eyes. Then I burst out in a raucous laugh
that set the house to shaking. Now, I knew why I couldn't sleep. When
I woke I knew something was occurring in my crazy world and I needed
to stop it. And as usual I became the reason for such worries. Double
or multiple entendres are always the best way to foment your own
demise. How to triple insult a new acquaintance, and lose old friends
in one shot. I am the Master.
So, my
dear friends, I am off to increase the word count on my prequel. And
hopefully this mishap will only be one out five for the day. And yes
Eric, I included your name in this missive since it had to do with
Stormwalkers. I'll
catch you up in an email.
So
remember my friends:
Beat
Always!
And so it goes.
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