Two of Us, Going Nowhere

This is coming to you on a Wednesday instead of your accustomed Thursday, but please don't panic. Well, maybe do panic, I don't know. If expecting new posts here at a certain time has become something of an article of faith with you, O Multitudes, a little panic may be in order. As long as it leads to some serious self-examination. Or if you're having or nearing the point of a serious automobile accident as you read this, go ahead and panic then as well, but only after you've piloted your vehicle to safety. I know all the big press is given to the campaign against texting while driving, but blog reading while driving, that should be an implied proscription at the very least. It's the silent killer that nobody likes to talk about, like colorectal cancer or equine syphilis. Nothing ends a conversation faster than asking about how somebody got equine syphilis.

Besides, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of you having faith in me. It's hard enough having three children looking up to me, expecting not only life advice but a constant example, in my every word, thought and action, on what it is to be an adult American male. There's so much pressure already to build their self-esteem, develop a healthy respect for women,* instill the basic value of money and hard work and to remember, say, not to drape your balls across a sleeping stranger's face in public, no matter how hilarious and necessary it may seem at the moment. The last thing I need is the guilty responsibility of your own expectations of me. I realize it's my own fault for being a) fucking awesome and b) clockwork-regular, but it's possible you're reading too much into my reliability. The awesome part I can't really help. It's one of those things you're born with that makes people notice, like freckles or dwarfism or gay. The chronological dependability, I'm afraid, is just the outward expression of my obsessive-compulsive tendency toward repeat behavior. In short, me being here every week is less a soothing counterweight to your abandonment issues than it is a symptom of my full-speed mental illness.

Or, I guess I shouldn't rule out the soothing counterweight thing. Maybe if those two things dovetail nicely together, I shouldn't dismiss the serendipity. Codependency has "depend" right in the middle of it. In which case, rely away. I'm your rock.

Unless I have shit to do. Like this week, for example. Tomorrow you will definitely not be able to rely on me. At all. I would give you a hint as to what it is I'm doing, but I've spent the last several paragraphs laying out a scenario of unhealthy and frankly inappropriate mutually instigated antisociality, so I'm a little reticent with the clues. I don't want to narrow it down too much except to say no one is likely to contract equine syphilis over the course of the evening. I've heard initial exposure renders you immune.

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*well, the hot ones.