No man is an island. That's what I've heard, but can he be anything but a man, atoll? aisle? I think he could be an aisle. I mean, why can't a man be a place where people pass through on their way to something else?
No, I'm not going to make a MyUnwife joke here. It would be funny, but it wouldn't be true.
"But when has that stopped you, Rob?"
Thank you for pointing that out dear reader. Let's say I may be just an aisle, but I'm trying to be a really nice one. The one you'd expect in a good library: surrounded by stacked knowledge and piquant whispers. Not like a K-Mart Linoleum blue light bargain corridor of mingled disinfectant and stale sweat.
When I talk about the man/aisle thing, it's not really a man thing; it's a Rob thing. This is my blog thing, and I'm the groove that gets you through. Lets talk about the aisle of Rob.
Most of the time I work at home, so I'm more of a cul de sac really. No destination per se, just a meandering channel leading around like a Walt Disney turnstile trap. Still, every channel needs an outlet For me, it's my writers' group. I know, I talk about it a lot, but that's because it's the one place I consistently go and interact with people.
We all need that. Be it a clique, a club, or a mallet, we all keep something in our cart as a way of beating down loneliness. For me it's the eight to ten people I greet every two weeks. We're a diverse group, filled with as many personalities as stories passed around the table.
I like the group because we're not there to impress. We're a kick back hang out aisle complete with tasty pasties and comfort cushions. It's a place where simply being expressive makes you impressive.
Last night I showed up late. Things were chaotic. No, not chaotic before I showed up; chaotic because I showed up. When I show up, I bring the dust devil of chaos whirling around my feet. I don't need to say anything more than "Hi, sorry I'm late, " and the two teenage girls in the group started discussing the smell of Chapstick and cultural relevance of anime. Fascinating stuff.
I'm used to the chaos. It's like my shadow. It suits the group pretty well, they're comfortable with it. Except the new guy. He wasn't. He left. At least I hope it was the chaos. Maybe it's the stale sweat I bring up my aisle.
I felt bad too because I couldn't meet his needs, but divorce is teaching me I can't do that for everybody. Some people will hang out in your aisle, others wont. Others prefer the organic foods to the Velveeta and MGD. Ok. I'm cool with that. I like that. People who liike my aisle, like chaos.
You know what's weird? I felt like somebody was standing at the end of my row staring in last night. It was at the writers' group. A woman was over in an another aisle, peering at us over a book. Almost as if she wanted the chaos but was afraid to be embarrassed by joining it. My chaos knows no humility, you can't be like a teenager buying condoms in my aisle. Either you man up or you wuss out.
Last night's aisle stalker apparently chose the latter. She probably followed the new guy out. Maybe she was his stalker. Whatever it was, after admiring the end cap, she moved along. Having somebody watch felt weird. I went to get some coffee, because what's paranoia without caffeine? When I came back, my stalker was gone.
But these are the things I notice since MyUnwife left. For me it's like finding a paperback adventure in my aisle. At first it was so tough even putting things on the shelves. I looked at each day like, "If I can just get through to the other side." Now I'm look at each day like "what's next?" It's cheesy I know, but cheese is down my aisle! See? Right here next to the beer!
It's true, I can't function alone, but I can be alone while people come and go. I like it when people who wander down my aisle find new and interesting things. Just like that cool library, maybe a collection catches their eyes and they stay and read. I can be that aisle, and it's so much better than being an island.
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