The Epic Non-Beginning

So anyways, thanks to the gentle persuasion of a frequent poster on ADDforums.com(Spoiler Alert: I have ADHD), I've decided to once again dive headlong into the blogosphere. Only one problem remains; What should the topic of this first blog be? Myself? Too self-indulgent and thoroughly done to death. And I mean, like TOTALLY done to death. It's been such a huge problem for me, that it has both effectively alienated me from the general public and destroyed pretty much every single relationship I've ever had.

Casual acquaintances, not friends(I have like, one actual friend), will come to me, and expound upon their many problems. It's understandable. I have a kind face and honestly look like the kind of guy who generally gives a crap. That's not to say that I don't, cause I kind of do. I want to be there for people, I really do. But, I have this... I don't know... Let's just call it a monkey on my back- Or this compulsory need to be the center of attention.

Like, this girl... Cute girl... She'll be telling me this tragic story about her Pomeranian getting mangled in an escalator. And in my mind- in the part that's still sane, reasonable and lucid- I'll know what's required of me. I know what my role in this exchange is; "Sounding Board". I know that people have opinions and that they matter. I know that they deserve a chance to be heard. And what's even more painful is the knowledge that this cute girl is probably only opening up to me because she thinks that I can help her... No, not with any purported time traveling powers that will save her dog. Not with a gift certificate to www.puppyfind.com to replace the pooch. Not even with directions to a certain Pet Semetary that's been rumored to help in matters like this ... No, she just wants someone to sit there, commiserate and maybe offer a friendly bit of advice. And God help me, I want to so bad... Plus, did I mention that she's totally cute?? But, NO.... Instead of a Psalm, instead of a word of comfort or a good old non-sexual pat on the shoulder, I open my mouth and this comes out;

[Me] Yeah, I know how you feel. When I was like 12, my Dad came inside from the yard and said, "Hey, Matt. You know how your dog loves playing dead? Well... She won!"

And I hold for a laugh... A chuckle... A giggle... Annnnnnnddddd.... Nothing. She excuses herself politely and mentally crosses me off a list of folks that she's willing to ever talk to again. And all because I wanted a laugh. Well, guess what, Buster Brown? You've failed. You're not going to get a laugh. Not from her. Girls don't like it when you make jokes about dead dogs, spousal abuse or senior citizen incontinence. And that's a damn shame too, because for some strange reason, those very topics make me titter. But, surprise, surprise. This girl or the thousands like her don't titter quite so readily. And that's a real drag, because I bet you anything that she's got very nice titters. MUCH nicer than my man-titters. Huh, what?? Ugh, I hate myself for that joke.

The point is this... In these short 27 years, I've realized one simple and irrevocable truth; "I like attention. It makes me valid. If people laugh at things I say, then maybe I'm worth something." A lot of this goes back to my biological mother. She was... Hmmmmmm... Now, how can I phrase this delicately? A "Crackwhore?" Am I saying that right? She abandoned me to the state at age 4. Actually LITERALLY left me on the street. And over the years, as I'd lay awake at night, I'd wonder...

Why?

And so, I sought validation. I sought the spotlight. At all times. I wouldn't be abandoned. Cast aside. Forgotten. No siree, I was gonna' be seen AND heard. People would tell me stories, and rather than listening intently and processing the information, I'd silently scream. Like a dog pacing back and forth at his master's door ready for a walk, I'll hear my internal monologue... A quick, thunderous metronome of self-involvement.

My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?My turn?

And at that point, I'll interrupt with something stupid and lose another person willing to talk to me. I mean, how fundamentally sick is that? They're looking right at me... Giving me their undivided attention... And still, it's like it's just not enough. It's ludicrous. It's wrong. And guess what? It's been happening longer than I can remember. So, that gentle readers, is why I've got to think long and hard about the subject of my first blog. It's got to be something of great importance, social responsibility and- Hey.... Wait a minute...

Reading back on this...

SON OF A WHORE!!!!

Alright, next time. Next time, I'll come up with something relevant. Until then, people, keep those fingers crossed. I won't because I've got to type and doing so with crossed fingers is harder for me than ending a conversation... Or a long blog entry.