I’m the man in the box.*

* Buried in my shit.
Won’t you come and save me?
Save me.

Man in the Box
Alice in Chains

WordPress behemoth/800-pound gorilla Le Clown invited me to contribute to his Black Box Warnings project. I wrote an amusing little ditty but if you’re having a bad day and are in need of a healthy dose of perspective, click on any of the other links. Therein lie tales of struggle and redemption the likes of which most of us, thankfully, never experience.

bbw

13 thoughts on “I’m the man in the box.*

  1. “It was so easy! I’d just stop calling.”

    I know a lady blogger who’s been on the receiving end of this many times. She calls it “radio silence”. I’m glad you progressed to something better and fathered two daughters.

    • I haven’t done that in–God over 20 years, maybe? And I’m still ashamed. What a rotten thing to do. But I hated confrontation and that was the best way to avoid it. It’s not so easy now with social media. They can track you down.

  2. A great blog over at the other place. But I think you’ll find that it was Groucho Marx and not Woody Allen that made the remark about Clubs.

    • Is that true!?!? I’m going to Google it in the morning and if you’re correct I’ll edit the post. Woody could have stole it from Groucho.

    • I know! You’d think I’d have a gigantic audience by now! I was on Blogger for all those years, which seems less conducive to crowds. Plus I’m terrible at disseminating my shit. You’d better get reading, pal. You’ve got some catching up to do. They’re all excellent posts. Every single one of them. Get busy. You can start with the five on the right.

  3. Yay you! Welcome to the BBW club. It’s rare to see “amusing” to describe anything that would go on that site, so trust, I’m rushing right over. I mean I was headed there anyway, but now I’m really in a hurry : )

    • I was reluctant to post on BBW. Everyone seems to have circumnavigated troubles that were much greater than mine. But Le Clown encouraged me to not weigh my stuff against anyone else’s. I’m glad I did it. I’m pleased with how it turned out, which is rare. I usually think anything I write is inadequate. Just like everyone else, I suppose.

  4. I read the story.

    You are getting weird.

    You begin to scare me.

    My most pleasant memories in all the world is having my 8 year old daughter, snuggling a pillow, listening entranced, as I spin a web of Fairy/Chinese/Scientific fantasies for her fascination. She is the Heroine. She is the Fool. We live for each other in our imaginations. She kills the baddies and saves her wee brother from the Witch-Bitch. Sleeps soundly.

    Love.

    • I don’t understand. You’ve been reading for a while. What do you mean by “getting” weird? Honestly, I never, for one second, thought I was anything other than abnormal. I’ve spent my whole life on the outside looking in thinking, “Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?” Apparently, it’s too much to ask for.

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