TBO’s Week in Abby-Surfing
So I was complaining in a private forum that someone hadn’t read my blog (yeah, I’m feeling kinda crabby today, I admit it), and my friend Jose (AKA “The Beige One”) responded with this:
Yah! I read [your blog] just about daily too!
I “talk” to you here, and I read the blog, and then read it again on My Space, and then I check off the date on my Abbendar. On Wednesdays, I read the latest issue of ABB!, and check out all the relationship gossip on abbynotches.com.
Fridays, I hit shuffle on all the karaoke movies and I drink wine and champagne until I sleep to the dulcet tones of the cutiekookyshutterbuglady.
The rest of the weekend I spend either rending my hair and crying in frustration with my abby-free existence; or I look at those pictures of your trip back to Oberlin again. Abby in the yellow room! Abby’s toes on the beach! Abby with Jon Stewart! The gestalt then gets to me and the cycle starts anew.
Sunday nights, starting at 7pm I slap myself to coherence and swear that I must, *must*, get over this impulse. My work’s gotten shabby, I’ve stopped showering and doing laundry, I’m a shell of the man I used to be, before this dynamo of a woman shorter than 5’6″ came into my life. I curse One Eyed Anne and rue the day I ever met her. It’s a sickness, and am I not a man? Do I not have a life? I used to be somebody, damn it!
I sleep, and wake on Monday a new man. I get to work, and start in on whatever meeting or minutes I need to be taken care of…then, in my personal mail, I get a note from my space that a new blog entry has arrived. I know who it’s from, but I shouldn’t see, I shouldn’t.
Well, I do wonder how she’s doing. Oh, what’s one look gonna hurt?
The week continues.
Smart Ass!
TBO and I in a Seattle Elevator
