SEPARATING THE DOTS

Usually I am good at staving off dark moods. I have always believed that no matter what, one soldiers on. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, maintiendrai, and all that. Stiff upper lip.

But, to put it mildly, sometimes it's a little depressing to realize that one does not mean much, and no one actually cares.

There is no one from my childhood and youth with whom I am in communication, nor from several of the places where I was employed.
Facebook keeps me in contact with folks from the toy company where we all worked once, as well as individuals who are on the same page.
There are exceptionally few people to whom I am close.


My ex-girlfriend seems more successful at being a social creature, despite crippling shyness and Aspergers. She has a boyfriend, there are relatives that she hears from often, and I am fairly certain there are friends about whom she cares deeply. One of which, I think, is me. I'm not sure.

But as a middle-aged white male I am not exceptional, and there are so many of us that we are pretty much expendable. If one of us disappears, another one can easily take his place.


Sometimes I think that my stuffed animals don't like me.
That the only meaning I have for them is my wallet.
A guy who must be blackmailed for cookies.



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