Archive for the ‘Read My Mail!’ Category

Add it up.

Monday, March 30th, 2015

“When people get married and start a family, societal conventions dictate that they ‘grow up’ and ‘settle down.’ Too often that means consigning the rest of your life to a job you loathe while wistfully reminiscing about the fun you used to have, unless you’re duking it out in the stands with other parents at some children’s house league game, because you chose to live vicariously through your offspring.”

—The Gore-Met, in “Meal for One,” detailing, at age 49, his marraige of 15 year’s end, in Rue Morgue iss. #134 (April 2015)
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She used to have to call time-outs — the kid sister of the Social Network of Blood Ties I was born into — when her father go so “into it” he’d interrupt the playing of the game.

From the sidelines.

He was that unable to “dissociate” himself from it — and, given that three (3) seasons of baseball I had to sit through (game after game), followed by one (1) of basketball (not “giving up on me,” I guess!) and one (1) of soccer panned out to nothing — he seemed to have “found” his proxy.
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“If I speak at one constant VOLUME …
“At one constant PITCH …
“At one constant RHYTHM …
“Right in-TO your EAR …
“You STILL won’t HEAR!”

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Woe is me, though, when I fail to see how ominous his asking, yearly, if he needed my help doing my income tax (I don’t … he doesn’t … what?).

No, wait: to begin with, I work in accounting, it’s not much more than addition and subtraction on the 1040, and, I only had one W-2 fo the year … what help, Harry, could you be?

MEANWHILE: He’s biding his time, I’m already his, “does he need my help” seems to be the overriding way it worked, my mail’s gone from Oregon, my inheritance wasn’t mine, anyway (“Why would she leave it to YOU?” To stiff the relatives of their 72-beer-a-weekend paradise, maybe … ?), bankruptcy’s a great idea when you’re $40K in the hole, I don’t deserve a straight answer if it makes him (or the judge at the Unemployment Hearing in Rochester) feel uncomfortable, and I’m left with nothing but sketchy guesses and implausible-to-others explanations about the behavior of someone whom, yup, is the possessor of a J.D. and bar number from testing years ago!

MORAL: Patty ain’t Harry, though. And vice versa. Don’t forget to carry that!

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