Sticks and Bones

The first part of a chronicle of a crush-turned-obsession. I'm sorry, Julie.


To experience this in natural reading order go to A Bright, Ironic Hell: The Straight Read .


Also, try Satellite Dance and Crystal Delusions--Parts 2 and 3, respectively--complete.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Yeah, But Where's the Ball? (3/11/09 Wednesday)

Tammy wasn't in Monday till late, so I asked her yesterday if she knew Done had been removed from the roll. She sighed and said, "Yes. I guess I have to talk to you about it." The committee had told both Ahmed and Tammy, and Tammy half-expected Ahmed to bring it up to me Monday. Anyway, the story goes: Somebody on the committee clicked through to Book Monkey Says but didn't stop there; they even read the comments by a reader who simply calls herself "Girl." That's as far as Tammy got in the story before I all but screamed "What?!" Tammy felt I was "ganged up on," and I am reluctant to speak the words lest I rally behind them and a wall of righteous indignation. I'd rather laugh at the irony, but the best I can do is tighten my jaw and shake my head. Tammy said I could get back on the roll if I hid BMS from Book Monkey's profile, but that would defeat the purpose of Done being on the roll, so I must content myself with what success I mustered while it was visible (112 profile views and counting).

I took another step as well: Julie's blog is not on the roll, but she left it up on the computer at the front desk. I made Book Monkey a follower. there's nothing personal on her blog, and not something I'll continue to read. She can make the connection easily enough, but I don't care (of course, or I wouldn't have done it). I'm just having fun. she won't read BMS once she knows who Book Monnkey is. She can think as she likes from there. Perhaps this is no way to put her behind me, but I consider it a compromise to cold turkey. I have removed her picture my bike, and at night when I awake with anxiety and her face before me, I push the face aside and get back to sleep. Spring is coming fast, and I want to experience it; and I'm looking forward to a summer of own this year. It's been nearly ten months since I first put pen to paper about this. As well as I fabricated the inspiration for all this ink expenditure, I should as easily find real reason to write. There is no good logic in that statement, I'm aware, but it sounds good. I've already accepted that I don't need a reason to continue writing, just, perhaps, a reason to finish the blog.

I suppose I am a blogger now. It's the only community I feel a part of, accepted fully within, wherein I can speak and be heard and respected, and where the rules are not so rigid that I have to feel every act of natural individualism is a rebellion against the culture. Normally, given that freedom, I would rebel even against that, for no reason probably than to rebel. But if rebellion is to have meaning it must have a goal beyond its own preservation, as must the blog. Have I reached the goal?

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