abnormal

yeah, i'm blogging on a friday night;
what of it?

fuck you, anyway.

see, the thing about me is:
i'm boring.

"matt, i don't think you're boring at all,"
remarked a lady friend of mine
one night at the bar
after i'd made the above statement.

"well, no, I don't think i'm boring as a person,"
i responded,
"i mean i'm 'boring' in the sense that
i don't need to be entertained, you know?
i can just stay at home and hang around;
i don't need to go out to have fun,
and for most people —

let's say i met a girl —

that's not so appealing.
but i'd rather just hang out."

i guess that's a hard concept to explicate
to a person with whom
or in whom's company
one either goes out for a few drinks
at this bar or that one
or gathers at somebody's abode
to watch a movie
and have a few drinks.

but i'm confronted by it again tonight.
although it's due to history
more than chemistry,
i think,
even if at this point
one informs the other.

so here i sit, brews on hand,
tobacco, and the dregs (wink-wink),
baseball on the radio,
and i type this.

and i suppose i'm content ... enough.

all that other stuff?
external, external.

(breathe in,
breathe out.)