“I’m an idiot for not enjoying your company.”

I don’t know if this is becoming customary, but I feel you should know the position of my body. I suppose I want to mention it because I am comfortable, very comfortable, as in reclined in an old refurbished, black leather, simple wooden chair. That is not all. I’ve found a nook. Literally, I have squeezed into this space and set my leg in the window, such that anyone looking from below can only see a comfortable leg and maybe hear the lilting voice of The Frames Irish brogue passing through the window. And now the sun is burning my face. I feel great. You should go and find a nook too. I am almost certain when the sun scorches your face you’ll feel better. It’s a key ingredient. If the sun is not scorching your face you invariably feel hateful and condescending. Am I right? You don’t give a damn and you hate everyone. Am I right? Don’t answer. I have to define for you idiocy.

Now…it seems to me that a problem I have and maybe you have but I’ve met plenty of people who haven’t is: not only, and I say not only, the confounding desire to say precisely what I am and thinking and what I want to communicate, but also the patience to listen. The patience to listen is generally entirely your problem, but I forgive you. I’ve done it before and already understand all your motives. For example, I say, “It’s too bad you can’t be here and we can’t sip steaming coffee and stare at each other.” You might say, “What the hell are you talking about. Are you a crackhead? I don’t know if I ever want to have coffee with you.” Maybe I’m putting words your mouth. Do you have an answer? I imagine you will only say this silently in your head with only a slightly noticeable put off affect because your predisposition and expectations for normal social behavior won’t allow you to be silly and moderately uncomfortable sipping and staring, or even the proposal of such a comment for that matter(“It’s too bad you’re not here. We might have a grand time.”), not to mention being verbally blunt in responding to it, yes, what I said.

Hence the dilemma and apparent result is: one I can’t communicate, two you are a bad listener, and three we can’t get to know one another. …I suppose I need to keep trying, trying to unpack this profundity. Idiocy is: when I don’t try to communicate and wallow in lonesomeness, lonesome because I believe you will go on your merry way and don’t want to listen. Stop being an idiot. Idiocy is not listening. So what am I saying? Well, I’m very cool, in fact. I have a wicked sense of humor. I’m exceptionally good looking. I’m going somewhere in life, even though I’m smashed in a nook. I suppose I enjoy me. In fact, I think you should enjoy me too. I don’t mean wash my feet and sing my praises. I mean, “it’s too bad you’re not here and we can’t laugh and carry on and enjoy each other.” Idiocy is not paying attention to why someone, any particular random, named or unnamed person, is worth knowing. I’m an idiot for not enjoying your company. I regret it. Despite some of your appalling and gaping character deficiencies, all of which I plainly see, as if you were standing naked in a stark and contrasted desert and I was the massive eyeball of the sun watching on only you and your feeble body. Maybe the scenario isn’t exactly the same…. In fact, I admit I also have a few shortcomings (I think two), but on the whole, I enjoy me sitting in here in the nook. Do you? Where are you? You have redeeming value, and I regret not enjoying it, you. We’re idiots for not enjoying each other’s company. …I think I’ve unpacked it. =)