Nothing, The Same

I can't believe how much I expose myself, everyone knows what I'm doing, I don't have any secrets anymore because I put it all out on the line. You might imagine that there is something reserved, held back, but there isn't. Sure I forget things, often never get to the point, and there seem to be some subjects that I never talk about (though when I think of one, I usually talk about it, at least skirt the edge) mostly in areas I feel strongly about but in a negative way. I don't like to complain unless I can be sarcastic or funny. There is, generally, too much complaining, now I'll complain about that. I can't stand people complaining about their job: quit it, for god's sake, get another job, and if you can't get another job, quit complaining about this job. Drives me crazy, I have to put on a prolate spheriod helmet and beat my head against a wall. Did I mention, I don't like idiots? B called and wants me to help with the inside framing at Zoe & Josh's place. Don't know if Bear will be there, I'm going in as a consulting framer, no intent to argue a single point, merely offer opinion and pound nails, that hammer and nail thing, Hamm and Clov; and, of course, there will be conversation with B and Josh, I might see the hugely pregnant Zoe, someone will feed me lunch, we'll probably drink a beer at quitting time, talk about Emily's grave, or Grave's terrific memoir of the First World War "Goodbye To All That", or Gulley Jimson, or nailing baseboard. We'll probably talk about food, maybe compare a recipe (both of us don't use recipes) in a very oblique way, B might say, for instance, when I might have asked him a question about how much chili powder to use when dredging fish fillets for tacos, -well, Tom, I guess I'd have to say, I fully expect to be digging chili powder out of ears with a Q-tip the next day- which I convert to ounces and a cloud of a certain density. And here's the kicker, working at Z&J's place with B, I'm understood and respected for what I am, whatever that is, accepted. I don't have to apologize for who I am. That wasn't the point here, what was the point? not apologizing but not putting yourself in that position, not going out: then you don't have to apologize. But I'll go out for this Richard's clan, because I like them, they engage me, I'm like an itinerant preacher with limited job skills and a guilty past, any chance to mix with the party. I have no social life and no skills. I'm not complaining, but ... . I feel I've been dealt a bad set of cards. What is the experiment, exactly? Should I be docile and roll over? Tune in tomorrow.

Tom

Talk about skirting edges.