Living In Public.

Eager willing young ass available for casual, oh shit I really have to stop myself in the middle of the day and ask myself what am I doing? Why am I sending these text messages to the closeted gaysian jock boy?

There was something yesterday, a distraction really which came late in the day indeed, it was awkward, and I think some people might call it a conference call. A conversation started so innocently.

"Hi, this is blah and twah, how are you doing?

"Oh hello, this is me, and I am lovely, thank you, yourself?"

"Oh, guh, muh duh, I'm alright, duh, would you, um, mind putting us, um duh, on speaker phone?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Would you, uh,  mind putting us on speaker?"

"Would... I... Mind... Putting... Can one of you help her with this?"

It didn't get any better after that. There were smatterings of awkward silences and mists of fragmented ill-formed sentences, it was like a Mondrian live. Wild speculation, and irresponsible conclusions. Midway through I ironically surmised that this might in fact be the only jammin mode of communication as they couldn't possibly see the sad pity in my eyes, the way I rub my temples as if in a therapeutic trance, the way I stare into the middle-distance as if they weren't even physical objects. Anywhere. Nothing is betrayed, and I can actually do some actual work in the process, send some nasty tweets, check the baseball, send some wretched texts about Mike Trout to the closeted gaysian jockboy. And, about that, I mean really.