Last night, coming home from work, my brain a firm pudding — I have started a second job, work as long as there is sun out — I imagined all the comments I have ever left on HTMLGiant. Comments under this account. Comments when I was still “bobby” or comments where I was just “anonymous.” I tried to find a transgression. Was it my fault that the comments disappeared? It feels like it is my fault. It feels like my fault because I feel silent. It feels like my fault because I feel very very alone. Everything still looks the same, the way things in a dream look kind of the same, but it is so lonely.
Was I mean to Tao Lin? I don’t think so. Was I mean to anyone? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I thought, I am just going to have to live in my town, have no one to talk to about lit stuff. Maybe I’ll talk about John Updike w/ my tennis friends. Or maybe Franzen. Maybe I’ll talk about John Updike w/ J. Franzen. Vice is still around, I try and console myself. As is The Rumpus. I was soothed once I realized these two things do not sooth me. Maybe they were sick of comments becoming flame wars. Maybe I had said something that had incited a very hurtful comment. Maybe I was too careless w/ my words and now I have no one to talk to. Sarah Rose Etter favorited a tweet of mine a few days ago. I have to go back and see it. I hold my breath until I am back here, in this room. I hold on to that little yellow star — my flair of loneliness, favorited.
I’m sure there’s a dead body in here w/ me. I am sure it is Michael J Seidlinger. I had a copy of her book, Tongue Party, w/ me in a therapists office this past summer. She asked what the book was. I held it up to show her the cover. Stories, I told Dr. “Gabby.” The next week I had a copy of Us, by Michael Kimball, at the therapist’s office. She asked what it was about. I told her it was bleak and sweet. The next week, the therapist said she couldn’t find US on Amazon. I shrugged my shoulders. I have two copies and I hoarded them both.
I have two copies of Us, White Noise, Heart of Darkness, Assassin of Secrets and Thanatos Syndrome. I cannot get rid of them. I broke up w/ the therapist a few days later via answering machine. She left me a voice mail telling me I could come back anytime I wanted. She would always be there for me. I think if she was into text messaging or email, I may have continued treatment.
I still have real people to talk to. I can still go outside and offer someone some water.