My apologies…

For being such a blog-abandoner, for so long. It wasn’t you, it was me. But, why waste time pandering, you know? (I mean, on my end, not yours, for you surely are not pandering and need not pander, and I tell you this true right here and right now. Don’t you pander. Don’t you do it. Stick to your gut, don’t give in just to satisfy others.) It was a lapse, and I’m sorry for it, but we must move forward.

Oh, you’re pissed? You don’t feel you can trust me anymore?

Look, I don’t know what I have to do to prove to you that I’ve changed. Because I have. Oh, you want proof? How am I supposed to live like this? Constantly under your oppressive thumb? You have weird thumbs, and that’s even besides the point.

I’m sorry I took it there. I think your thumbs are so unique. They are exquisite. You are exquisite.

No, well. No. I’m not pandering. I’m just trying to be a nice, honest person. Yes, your thumbs are truly weird, but they’re also unique. Things weird can also, and typically are also at least kind of cool, sort of, or whatever. So don’t you go on and say all that to me, when all I’m trying to be is kind. Oh geez, you know what? It’s becoming near impossible to have a simple conversation with you. To make a simple apology. Because you’ve always got to make it into some big-freaking-deal. You lack patience and you lack–

Oh, I see.I lack patience? You think you can win this by spinning it straight back to me? Right. That’s a laugh. A real haw-haw. You’re deluded, you know that? De-luded. An apostrophe in a word that requires no such punctuation. An interruption in something that was working just fine before you curved yourself between the good and the good and made it all turn wrong-rotten.

You know, all I’d wanted to do was to tell you what was going on in my life, because I care about you. Because I want you to know that even through the conferences, and the swanky parties, and the homes I’ve witnessed in other cities with other cars and other streets and other dogs–some with very nice, brightly-painted shingles (the homes) and doors and little gardens that look just the right amount of tousled and over-grown–and the people I’ve met, who often know a great deal more than I do about all of this stuff and this whole world and are pretty much across the board nice and generous and kind-hearted and genuine and helpful–I always miss you. You remain there in the back of my skull, a consistent presence. I do not pass a day without wondering on you. You are there, whether we are in touch, or we aren’t. You will always be there. A pang in my heart. A tug in my lobe.

And that’s what I, really, wanted to convey. So, un-ruffle those feathers, and sit beside me here, and let us just hold hands and breathe together and not need to speak. Let us just be grateful.

Oh, I’m a hippie?

Fine. No, you’re right. You’re right. I am.


About kateellison

Author, artist, weirdo
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