Today finds me sitting at my computer, as usual, listening to music and writing endlessly. Modern technology allows idiots like me to write about matters of little or no concern to anyone without wasting paper. In the past, idiots like me had to use lots of paper to say nothing.
One of my cats, Toulouse, is curled up in a drawer in my desk just to my right. Another cat, Impy, is sleeping on a laundry bag a few feet away. The three of us are waiting for something to happen, but are satisfied to know that, if nothing does, that is probably for the best. Yes, it contributes to a feeling of irrelevance and even run-of-the-mill boredom. However, the last thing we want is attention. Except to occassionally have parts of ourselves scratched that we can't scratch ourselves.
Yesterday, I was pouring through some papers of mine. There were a lot of them, as I keep just about everything. I found an email from someone who wrote, "Why don't you take your wan Fabianism and go fuck yourself." Apparently, I thought the email was worth printing and saving. Strangely, I have absolutely no recollection of who this man is, why he thought I was a Fabian (I'm not), and most importantly, why he wanted me to go fuck myself. I threw the letter away, as there is no shortage of people who want me to go fuck myself. Generally, if I've never met you in real life, I probably don't really care what you think of me. Although there are a few exceptions.
But you should see the things I did keep. Volumes of letters and cards and whatnot, some from girlfriends, others from friends, comrades, and family. Most of these are too personal to relate to random people on the 'net. Some are not, and I want to share one with you right now.
My aunt sent me a birthday card last July. She chose to fill the card with her personal thoughts about me, which is rare these days. It was a letter in a card, if you will. One line stood out in a not so flattering way, however, but I don't remember seeing it back when I first got the card. I definitely noticed it yesterday. The line reads, "When your dear, loving Ma said you were the worst kid in the world she just meant you were so damned active."
My mother said that I was the worst kid in the world? Holy shit! Sure, the card also says that I'm a "loving, kind, helpful person" (in reality, I'm not that helpful). But it's hard to counter Worst Kid in the World status.
When I was five, I did shit in the pool at the White Owl Resort in New Hampshire. But that's not much of a crime when you're five years old. It's not like I was twenty-five. And haven't we all taken a shit in the White Owl pool? Who am I, Oswald?
But I'll survive this revelation. Besides, I'm a much bigger asshole now than when I was a kid. A close friend of mine said that I am "eccentric, with a lot going on upstairs." Friends can put things in reassuring ways. I guess the biggest insult would be to tell someone that he or she doesn't stand out at all. "Harry, you are definitely just one of the crowd." It would be hard to recover from that.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go online and see if the While Owl Resort still exists, and if they still have a pool.