Ave Maria 14 January 1999

8:10 PM: Stupid throat, enough with the touchy behavior. It's a breezy world. Deal already.

Have you ever found yourself lying there in your wherever, which is such a strange word, but anyway in that place in the morning where you are, and thinking that you actually haven't been to sleep at all that night? That really, you were just lying there thinking? And, sure, your train of thought might have been a little strange, but then it was a long time and it was dark mostly. But you wonder, was I? Or not?

The strange truth, if you live alone: No one will ever know. Schrodinger's Bedtime.

You know, I've never meant to be frustrating, I guess it's just a gift. Badumbump. No, but really, see that email link down there? That's my name. Tater. I'm not lying! You could go into the bar, if you knew which one it was ha ha oh sorry, and ask "Is Tater here?" and they would know who you meant exactly. And then say "Yes." I don't even have a pseudonym to hide behind, I only use them for other people. Which is a little scary, as several of you can probably imagine.

Now it's true that there are segments of my life where that name would ring nary a bell. That's somewhat on purpose, and it's a purpose that way predates this here drivel. (I wanted to say "scribbling" but I don't think you can apply that word to typing, and I already used "typing" last weekend, I think.) I remember when my work life was my social life was my only life and no, thanks. Mixing along the edges is allowed, within reason. Shriveled and sad it might be, my outside life, but I cling to it. Dammit. Why am I defending this? Like you object. Or care, really. Uh oh, that's one of those Bad Thoughts.

Speaking of the world outside, I was talking to someone here the other day about local bands. This started because I was wearing my Thinking Fellers t-shirt. She mentioned it, I lamented that they never seem to play live anymore, and it got more general. I had thought that the reason that I didn't seem to know of any new good bands around here was that I didn't go out to hear them. Her opinion, though, was that in fact there aren't any good new local bands.

Now that's discouraging. I'd hate to think that all the time & trouble of going to clubs would leave me where I started, vaguely bored. These distant goals are supposed to be rewarding, not pointless. So anyway, if you happen to know some reason why this cow-orker of mine is just wrong, wrong, wrong, let me know.

You don't need to tell me about Lavay Smith, though. I found her CD here at work. So very, very fine. And much less crowded, listening to it here.

Well, that's something of a relief. I'm sitting here with the usual vacant look on my face, when I hear my office crush talking about how she might finally have set up a date with this boy she knows. Which means there's no particular boy and that theoretical possibility has been revived. No, this isn't contradicting all what I'm saying up above. It's like ... it's like the Holy Trinity. Catholics get awfully agitated at other Christians who make fun of the Holy Trinity, but really, it makes absolutely no difference. Nobody is denying anybody's divinity there. So it's just this odd little belief that gives you comfort when your brain has been warped in the right way.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.