It's another sunny Saturday.
I'm home alone.
Esther's working.
I'm trying to write about... the way, I tend to write about... nothing.
All the time.
That is to say, how my writing tendencies always just come out-
I don't know-
like half written tales with no resolution-
Or character development-
Or much of anything that makes much sense, or is probably useful to anyone.
But I read something of such substance to someone the other day.
2 people actually.
They were both awake and listening.
Which meant I had to pause after the first sentence to let my quivering voice catch up with my fear.
And their response was actually encouraging.
They saw some type of value in the word dance of nothingness I had created.
And there's something my ego just can't let go about that notion.
Before they were even done praising me I had the book title solidified in my mind,
and how I was going to capitalize on my greatness 6 ways before Sunday.
Because, it was suddenly my duty to let the world know their meaninglessness turns out to maybe mean something after all- and that means more to me and my appetite for praise than anyone could ever know- unless your like me- and you don't know much- and most things confuse you- and you often wonder if your life is like a dog chasing its own tail and you just haven't realized it yet.
Well.
Then you know all too well.
Don't you?
And I'm sorry for that.
But then these words about nothing are for you, I suppose.
Aren't they?
They say if everyone's invited then no one is invited.
So I say, if these words are to no one, then they can just as well be for anyone.
Right?
And how beautiful is that?
And how can I help but wonder if someday you'll write some words or create some type of madness right back to me as indirectly as I have so un-specifically written these words not to you-
And then we'll just essentially be a couple dogs chasing our own tails.
Together.
Then who will be laughing?
