I've fucked around and found out.
I don’t even have a good reason, either. Wait, yes I do. I blame it on music that takes me back to some other place.
With someone else.
Yes, goddamit, I’m there again. Ok, here’s what happened.
I was listening to the above track, bad ass track, you can feel it in your chest when the beat drops out of the bottom. But, it takes me back to a specific day, and I can remember him saying to me that one of his favorite things was how I was always dancing around the house.
That it made him happy every day coming home to see me just in my Riffs losing my mind to whatever was inspiring my work.
You know, for the way everything shook loose, he really was my biggest fan for a while. Read everything I wrote, told me every day that I was the best writer he’d ever read. And that I smell like money. And that ass is banging, so walk by again.
I miss that so much. I miss having someone excited to read my work, even if it turns out that was only because it was about him.
I miss having someone to cheer me on from the cheap seats. I miss a lot about him, actually. But I really miss my biggest fan.
Now, when I dance around my house like a fucking wanna be Paula Abdul back up dancer, there’s nobody to enjoy it. You know Puffin can’t stand it, because she’s basically a 90-year-old decrepit bitch who does nothing but bitch about everything all day.
I honestly think it was because even though I was still as much of a recluse as I am now, I wasn’t a recluse alone. I had someone who joined in my every day. Who knew me, my work, my thoughts.
I felt like I wasn’t talking to hear myself talk. I was having a conversation, I was telling someone my reasons, and it made me better for having done so.
That’s why there’s such a void. Because he was so much to me. He became so big because my world had become so small.
And now, I’ve evened out again. I’ve grown to fit my container. I’ve managed to develop a new root system. And I’m going to be evergreen again.
I know these things. It still doesn’t take away the once in a while. The every now and then. The when I stop and think about it.
That being said, I’m currently accepting applications for a new biggest fan. Requirements are you must find me fucking hilarious (duh, I mean, pssh). You must read all of my drivel, even the shit where I’m clearly stuck in a mental rut, and tell me how much it got you in the feels, and you must tell me nonsense that keeps me atop my pedestal.
Hours are negotiable, but typically run midnight to midnight. Pay is shitty, but chances are I’ll write about you a lot, so there’s that.
That’s all. I’m over it. I just got stuck for a minute. Sometimes the music takes you back. Here’s hoping the next time it takes me somewhere worth going again.
Q
Dear, ain't a damn thing bad about wanting a partner (which is what you're describing).
The hard part is the kissing of a great many toads (and other vermin) to find that Steady Eddie who suits.
You are my biggest fans, and I love you guys so much. I would be nothing without y'all, just randomly scratching out nonsense into some notebook in a drawer. Without you guys, I would have given up long ago. I know that factually. Y'all saved me, from myself, from bad decisions and worse decisions, and from that bitch who's always looking to serve some sort of penance I may or may not owe.
It's not that you're not enough, it's I'm simply too much. Honestly, who has all day to sit around and wait for me to have the next mental crisis over the proper noun verb subjugation. Exactly. But, if each of you could fill in this handy sheet I've devised with your availability, I'm sure I could have a rotation posted by Monday. God bless my supervisory skills. Thank you, Publix Supermarkets :)