...without feeling the urge to vomit...

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Just in case you were wondering... (And just in case you were reading...) I am not in any way upset with you. You have done nothing wrong. I am the immature one. I am the one who can't rein-in the bullshit. And you can be damn sure that I will never stand in your way. I never have; I never will. (Although, I think you have a few lousy habits. And, one day, I may even grill you on their worth.) From you, I expect great things. (And, one day, I hope to be great enough in my own right so that the above statement carries a certain degree of weight.) Still, I think you aim too low, but, I barely know you, so, that is entirely conjecture. I do this — It's nothing new — Putting the likes of you up on a pedestal. It's really fucked up. It doesn't do anyone a lick of good. But that's learned behavior for you. (Unless it's conditioned behavior for you.) And, to be perfectly frank would require putting it in truly pathetic terms. I can't do that. I can't be that straight forward without feeling the urge to vomit. All those hollow clichés seething up my esophagus. I've tried to conjure up something more original — I've notepad pages full of attempts, but it's all hackneyed, trite, and rather stinky. And, to be a bit more frank, I did not realize how pathetic I was becoming until another damn fool (and that's putting it lightly) went out of his way to demonstrate what it actually means to be pathetic. In a convoluted way, he did me a service. I almost want to thank him for proving me wrong, but that would be SUPER fucked up. I almost pity him. I thought that I was setting the example of How Not To Live, but he went ahead and trumped me. Of course, I can't speak for him, but from my end: Lesson learned. Actually, I'm writing a play about it. Me — it's about me — not anyone else. I'm five pages away from a one hundred paged first draft. Don't worry, you don't make anything in the way of an appearance. There are only two characters and they're both male. Right now it's one long dialogue involving two truly manipulative fuckers. Actually, I'm hoping it's a comedy. One thing's for sure: It's about the most coherent thing I've written in about ten years. (Believe you me, that's saying a lot.) And it's ugly. Damned ugly. You've never posted a comment to this blog. But it seems clear to me that you have read it. A semi-recent "coincidence" gave me the indication. No, I'll hazard to guess that it was deliberate. And, please forgive the delay, I only happened upon it very late last night. Or, have I now made an even bigger ass of myself because you were no more than simply "borrowing" the style of one of my earlier posts? Anyway, given how uncomfortably awkward this situation has become — and if not for you, at least for me (and if not for you, Thank God!) — but anyway, what would you propose? That is, in terms of how to proceed? Feel free to email me. (Just trust me, I wouldn't make much sense over the phone, and I'd probably be too freaked out to actually connect the call.) Or, we can both wait until I grow the gonads to show up. (And, regrettably, that might be for a while yet.)

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