So, why am I bothering to write, anyway? For almost a year, I had almost everything I’ve ever written online for robots to grab and searchers to find, and only a handful of people came to my site, usually looking for their particular perversion, and finding my writing instead. At this point, I needn’t bother myself with the illusion that somewhere, someday, someone is going to discover my writing and crown me the next Thoreau. I can’t possibly think that I am writing for an audience at this point—other than this audience of one.
I found myself getting careless a few times with my words around J, the new dog walking chick who will no doubt be scared off soon enough if she hasn’t been already. I heard my voice getting all pompous, as if I’m the world’s foremost authority on everything, and I caught her murmuring noncommittal grunts shaded with doubt in response. Since I have no outlet, other than God, dog, roommate and Dad—and none of these are quite as satisfactory as a pretty female who will let you bend her ear—I am turning once again to this strange method of catharsis.
I skipped church again yesterday. I couldn’t work up the slightest nerve to go. I was a little disappointed by the Catholic church I started to go to. The group of new Catholic adults who are a step or two ahead of me in the process of initiation completely ignored making eye contact with me, even as I stood there smiling and wanting to hear about their experiences. I found myself in a room with older people—the one younger lady was married. There was one lady in the group whose social justice program I’d read about on the church website made me interested in learning more about this church—and, after the class was over she promptly struck up a conversation with the younger lady and gave her a business card, totally ignoring me.
The girl I kind of liked from the first Catholic classes (who wasn’t the least bit interested in me anyway—offering up the standard scowling response to any of my smiling efforts at friendly eye contact) isn’t showing up anymore. I realize I didn’t start this to exclusively discover a wife, but it would help to at least have someone roughly my age who is going through what I’m going through so that I don’t feel so all alone. I mean—at least a friend, Lord.
Being alone when I’m away from a group is fine—I could spend the rest of my life that way if I had access to food and knew I wasn’t totally pissing God off for not serving his people. But, getting into a group and finding myself the outsider, the loner—that just looks like a chasm I’d rather avoid standing over.