Let me begin by saying I was going to lie to all of you.
I have maintained a certain level of honesty and integrity on this blog, and yet this morning I perched on an ethical ledge and stared out into the vast emptiness of fabrication.
I was going to tell a lie about a leg.
My amputee student was fortunate enough to receive a prosthetic leg.
I guess it's kind of cool; you can't sign it or anything like you can with a cast.
It's more for walking.
But that doesn't matter; none of it matters.
So anyways, I was going to lie and say I was responsible for taking care of the leg, because I am good with legos and its kind of like putting one of those minifigures together.
And then I was going to say, with my usual insightful and amusing self-deprecation, how I stupidly put the leg on him the wrong way and darn it aren't I so amusingly inept when it comes to mechanical things? Har dee har fat joke bald/nude drawing/fecal reference amusing the end.
This gweenbrick shtick writes itself.
Now I am so angry and hurt because I feel like I have to lie because someone else got to put the leg on the wrong way before me, and I cannot take ownership of such an amusing anecdote.
I like to be the epicenter of any hilarious goings ons; I hate living life on the dorky perimeter.
For example, I occasionally flagellate myself by logging into Twitter.
On that web page I sometimes find people who are quite good at being funny, so naturally I try to join right in with them.
If you like to describe things, you may describe my Tweeting as "painful" or "oh no" or "please close the laptop and come to bed sweetie please."
It hurts so much when I reread my Tweets. I am like a well-meaning father coming upon his teen aged children making hilarious jokes and attempting to get in on the hijinks with his dated impersonation of Amos and Andy; it tries too hard and is wearing blackface.
Which brings me back to the leg thing.
I don't know who attached it incorrectly to his stump, but the end result was a loose and swirly prosthetic leg and a poor man finding himself continually turning in circles.
He would start moving forward and then go "Whoa! Whoa!" as his body began another rotation.
As people rushed to help him, all I could do is stand there and think, "I wish it had been me...."
I guess I feel the loss a little more keenly as I have completely lost my ability to come up with good ideas.
My internal life, my creative gears, have come to a halt.
Do I begin to lie or just never post? The chasm yawns beneath me.
Why do chasms yawn?
Because they are tired. I wish the word "tired" contained some kind of meaning that related to "chasms" so that what I just wrote could be a hilarious joke for Twitter. But it doesn't and it won't.
Like when I put one of my jokes on a website of jokes and right afterwards someone wrote, "Man, all the jokes are terrible on here now."
I am sorry to say that might sum up my mental state at the moment.