Thursday, May 11, 2006
Sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes the walls that surround me seem like they are hermetically sealed* only instead of keeping air and sunlight out, they repel social connection, human interaction and all traces of happiness.
Man, I have to stop watching Lifetime Movie Channel. It puts me in a dark mood. That poor Joanna Kerns... she just can't catch a break.
This time, however, I'm feeling kind of down not because of stories about women left by men or wronged by men or beaten by men or stalked by men or who have their daughters murdered by abusive men but because of something about me. Something real. Something personal. Something I didn't see on TV.
I love my readers. Really, you guys are the best. Ever. But even though we talk and we chat and we make all kinds of funny, funny jokes in the comment section about what a retard I am--honestly, who could get tired of hearing that?--in my everyday corporeal day-to-day life, I'm so very lonely.
I spend all day with my kids, who do actually qualify as people, but the things we do together... they just aren't the same as adult interaction. We'll play basketball sometimes, but seeing as how the two at home are an average height of 3'6", it's barely even worth it. I always fucking destroy them, even if it's 2-on-1. They can't get a shot off. And in the end, for one reason or another, they cry like the pussies I've always been afraid they would turn out to be. But look, if you don't get your feet set, it's a blocking foul, not a charge. And if we're going to play contact, we're going to play contact. If you're going to defend in the lane, you have to be ready for that. Otherwise, get the fuck off my court.
I have trouble figuring out why I don't have more adult friends. Sure, it's probably my children's fault, at least indirectly. Directly I blame the state of California and all their draconian child-endangerment laws that keep me tied to this house while my kids are at home. But what can I do about that? You can only drive your truck into the State Capitol building so many times before someone eventually will notice.
I think the main problem, the primary reason why I don't have more adult friends, is that I simply am not worth enough financially to other people. I can't think of a single person who relies on me to generate enough income for them to buy a summer place in Malibu or keep their private fleet of helicopters fueled.
I mean, look at Tom Cruise. He's had a bit of a rough patch here lately what with all the acting crazy in public and the subsequent realization by the public that he is crazy.
But in his time of great need, Tom Cruise's friends rally to his support. These aren't just any people, either. These are heavy-hitters. Studio executives who release and hold rights over Tom Cruise films and movie producers who have worked with Tom Cruise and made a shitload of money off his sparkling, limited, three-expression face. You can tell from reading their statements that Tom's friends are speaking with the genuine affection and personal concern of people who need to meet payroll for their staff of over 200 on their 40,000 acre Montana ranches. The fire-eaters, lion tamers and harem of Asian ladyboys will not work for free.
If all interest is self-interest, then real friendship is the kind of friendship that comes with an eight-figure check. That's just logic.
Also, to me, this sounds like a Public Vote of Confidence by people in Tom's industry. Similar public statements are made by parliaments in democracies all over the world about sitting Prime Ministers and Presidents or by sports team owners in support of their managers/head coaches. Everyone knows that once someone gets the prized Public Vote of Confidence, it's all smooth sailing from then on.
But I will never get a Public Vote of Confidence. Why not? Because I lack enough friends to make up a quorum. My best hope is that when they finally grow up and stop being such crybabies, my kids can fill that role. Then I will be able to rely on them when times get tough. When I'm old and frail and riddled with disease, reliant upon machines to keep my failing body hovering this side of the Great Beyond, I'll be sure they'll band together, my three boys and whatever step-children I have from my subsequent marriages, and make a Public Vote of Confidence in favor of my recovery.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 7.7
* = that is, sealed by a bastard vigilante wall-sealing hermit. I'll get you, Spackle Pete!