He got a girlfriend late last year, and then I went away for the summer and only gave my parents and everyone around me a week’s notice, confirming to the world or at least to him and a few others my eternal flakiness, my unfathomability, which if I were younger, richer or more famous could be substituted for charming, cute eccentricity but now that I’m older and considering whether I should lie about my age on my résumés it can be called what it is: I am not special. I am just one more guy, and my foibles are actually not endearing.
I did not resent the chick, because good on him and good on her, and even when he had more time when we would get together for a night out I would drag the vibe down, I was always confused and a slight nameless fear would always take over as I was out in the clubs or in the bars. I am dazed, was and am, that for a few months I would feel moments of happiness with Lizeth and Karina and then I would get home and have to clean tables while no one looked at me and I resigned myself to being on the bottom rung once more, nameless and contractually unworthy despite my brain.
He is a virulently anti-religious Israeli-Australian, who did not think but simply did, and got somewhere, whereas I did not think either but simply felt, and got nowhere, but I did write a book about Bolivia, Peru and Paraguay and it’s my most cherished possession even if it never gets published and I never become known as The Author. At some point I suddenly was not sure what to talk to him about, he had climbed. This was after twelve years of knowing each other, to his eternal credit because I shed people after half a year and shed interests after two months. After so long I had stopped being interested in soccer despite all appearances and knowledge; the Western Bulldogs somehow started winning again and it mattered but didn’t, we had already blown it eleven years ago, and I had stopped going to dance classes and never proved to anyone in Australia that there’s more than meets the eye, and wouldn’t know where to begin, and if I did know where to begin I would back out of the path before it flowered.
I really thought that I had already reached an impasse with this blog, that there is only so much that can be said about loss, and that fighting against issues and the people who represent them is anger-inducing and serves for nothing on an individual, emotional level; I believed but I didn’t believe, I wanted but had resigned to not getting, and I asked myself how LuLi and the crowd kept up their blogging passions for a year, two years, when I was dead after two weeks, but then I got typing without thinking and somehow all this came out.