Up My Own Ass

I’m a writer, I’ve always been a writer, I can type faster than I can think, and I’ve never had a problem putting my thoughts or feelings to words, and setting those words to paper.

…Screen. Blackberry…Facebook status?

Whatever.

I’ve discovered over the years, that there are approximately only about 4 other people in the whole WORLD who also seem able to express themselves fully and communicate what they think (or WHETHER they do), how they feel, or how they see the world. Understanding this, I have come to adjust my standards with people accordingly to take it from “let’s take this world by storm!, let’s live Life with a capital L!!, balls to the wall baby, I came to LIVE OUT LOUD!!!” to… “try not to hurt yourself.”

Yes, I’ve been let down by peoples’ piss poor writing skills, their inability to communicate, their fear to open up. But this. THIS!!! This is a whole new level even for my jaded, email-capable, letter-writing, let’s-get-to-KNOW-each-other’s-SOUL-through-the-sacred-written-word self.

Recently put back in touch with an old friend from summer camp days, I a camper, he a counselor at the time, now two adults, I was looking forward to exchanging life histories, personal revelations, manifest destinies. I EVEN…prepare yourself…took our couple-line Facebook exchanges to a new level by sending my next message via my real EMAIL address, so as to facilitate more conversation than that tiiiiiny little box Facebook offers to compose your messages, designed to make you feel guilty after a paragraph or so for being so long-winded.

And you know what revelation my old friend, long separated by distance and years and lifetimes, with whom there was so much fertile ground for getting-to-know-ya sent me? That people, just when you think they can’t possibly be any more incompetent…will somehow always prove you wrong.

He wrote, “I’m not great at letter-writing, but this should sum things up that I’ve been up to,” and sent with an attachment. Thinking oooh wow that quick and I’m privy to a private journal clipping perhaps? Ruminations on the collective soul?

I clicked on the attachment with great eagerness and excitement.

And opened…

- NO JOKE! -

His RESUME.