Funny Bone

I hadn't written anything since the months after we first met when I started typing away nonsense to post to my.spa.ce. Then he became my friend, and I started writing to him, without saying a word. I didn't always tell him my heart, I liked to tell him fun drinking stories or how my ass was doing that day, you know, the usual. Every now and then I'd slip in a paragraph or two hoping he'd feel my longing. He didn't.

After a friend was offended by something I wrote, with no intention of being offensive, I started a new page. I had made a few blogging friends and invited them to the new profile. He was the only person who knew me in person I told about the new page. There, I wrote to him more. I spilled and spilled and spilled some more. I wasn't sure I had any guts left, the floor was so messy with them.

Then he asked to meet up again.

I was terrified. This man had read the contents of my heart, soul and bowels. It took 30 seconds to get over that fear. I kept spilling, he kept reading, and I kept wondering when I would decide he knew enough, and silence my fingers. I never really decided he knew enough. After things fell apart, sometimes I'd write something I didn't want him to see, and I'd post it here. (Shit, there goes my secret.) Those times were few and far between though.

In spilling it all for Patrick to know, I met quite a few people I still treasure and "talk" to now. Then I stopped writing for a little while. Then he was murdered and I wrote regularly again. Then I got tired of being all angsty and stopped. Then one of my favorite and most treasured blogger friends passed away, and I wrote again, but sporadically. Throughout all this, I somehow stuck my funny bone up my ass or something. Not sure how it happened, maybe I've told all the funny stories, maybe not. In any case, I hope to be digging that bone out of my ass again soon. It might take awhile to angle it the correct way in order to fully extricate the bitch, but I'll get there. I will find something funny to say again.