Fireside Chat

Oh, hello there. I didn't see you. Please come in. Help yourself to some beverages. Or some steak. Take a seat in a comfortable chair by a fireplace that's a little too close so you feel constantly uncomfortable, but not enough to say anything about it because you don't want to seem impolite after I just gave you steak and a nice beverage, so you just sit there sweating distractedly, trying to make small talk, but it just doesn't happen well because all you can think about is how hot it is by the fire.

Then I become amused by your misery and offer you a seat closer to the not-fire, and we're all set to talk, but since this isn't a real-time forum, it'll be me doing most (and by most I mean all) of the talking. So enjoy your beverage and steak and not-too-hot position in the nice chair and listen to what I have to say.

Is the steak good? Thank you, it is nice. It was on sale at Meijer, so I thought it most prudent to take advantage. And the beverage? Yes, a nice vintage. It's been sitting in my pantry for about three months after the expiration date. Oh, that's only for wine? Well shoot. It still tastes good, right? Indeed not, you say? Very well, then.

Now that the obligatory preliminary conversation is dispensed with, I'll begin my soliloquy.

It's the end of the year. I was going to share with you some reflections on the past year, but soon realized there's nothing to reflect on. Just another wasted year full of wasted relationships, wasted time, and, worst of all, wasted opportunities.

Oh, you say, but surely a man of your distinguished tastes in steak and expired beverages would never have problems with wasting opportunities. You must live quite well off.

Yeah, I would reply, well up yours too, buddy.

Let's see, how do I put this... I'm an idiot? Yeah, let's go with that. Fear is an irrational emotion that I've never really learned to live with. Partially because no one ever taught me or helped me through it. Partially because, as I said, I'm an idiot, and for some strange reason, I enjoy torturing myself with what I'm convinced is impossible even though I obsess constantly over it. It's like a slow, mental suicide. I know I can stop, I just don't know how, and for some reason, I just don't stop.

I kinda wish I would've had someone in my life to teach me things like this. Tell me how to deal with fear, life, and buying new groceries. How not to hide behind masks. How to fish, shave, deal with those female things you see on TV. Almost, like... a father? Sure, that would be nice.

Well, my dear guest, this is where I must draw to a close this conversation before I start off with things people aren't supposed to know about and before I start swearing.

I'm sure you can find the door yourself? It's the X at the top right of your screen (or the red dot at the top left if you're using a Mac). Or if you're using tabs, there's an X... ah, you see it? There you go, then. Oh, and don't mind the fourth wall, I can put that back up later.

And be sure to learn from my mistakes so you don't have to make them for yourself. Take care.