July 11, 2005

Everyone’s fave pseudonymous M.D. sends regrets; has stuff to do elsewhere. Before he returns you’ve got, on second watch, to keep you busy, me. A sorry surrogate, confessedly. A patsy. A scapegoat. Back for more, Matt? Golly, some people are such gluttons for… oh, whatever.

You know the story by now, surely? Random banter coloured by some melancholy absence, an unspoken sorrow, the tug of a subject we can’t talk about, the long shadow cast by what’s out of bounds.

All just a parlour game, of course, a playful endeavour, a jest, a jape, a lark. No real loss lurks below the surface, no secret groundswell of heartbreak you should be aware of. The joy hasn’t gone out of the world, the sparkle hasn’t been sapped, honest. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, remember? So who could blue? Not me, that’s for sure. No way, José!

We must choose our path through the maze of glyphs, take baby steps along each sentence, maybe somehow reach the end, maybe get lost en route. That’s what the whole “blog” endeavour demands. Words, only words. Don’t take the matter to heart, for God’s sake. That road leads to madness.

So, what won’t we say today? Where’s the room’s elephant? Where shall we all cast sneaky glances that we hope no-one can see, and then pretend we haven’t? Ach, that game’s dull; let’s play another.

How about poker? Seven-card stud, twos and one-eyed jacks unfettered. No? Perhaps Monopoly? Chess? Dungeons and Dragons? Boot up the old Dreamcast and dance along to Ulala’s on-the-spot reportage for Space Channel 5?

Or maybe not. Maybe there’s just a trace of sadness after all. Let’s make the most of that. Let’s all wallow. Let’s weep and rend garments, plumb the furthest depths of doom and gloom, fret and worry and gnash our teeth and mourn and sleep no more. Let’s cry all the way to the bank.

My, aren’t we random today? Even more than usual. Well, no matter. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…

…but you’ve heard all that before.