Tell It To My Heart

Oh Taylor (Dayne)... where have you gone?

So uh, I spent last weekend back in San Francisco. Over lunch at Taylor Refresher's at the Ferry Building, it was brought to my attention that I am neither a sentimental nor sensitive person. I am dead inside. Yeah, you heard me. I'm DEAD INSIDE. I have no feelings. Well, not NO feelings. But I possess very few feelings. Although the contents of this blog would suggest otherwise (I'm always gushing about le cub), I am incapable of conveying real emotion. I hide behind a wall of sarcasm, and well, I don't know what's wrong with me. When complimented, I get red and awkward, and am unable to shoot a compliment in return the way one's supposed to. When folks say, "I miss you, Debs!" I laugh it off and sarcastically mutter, "Er, me too?" "I love you, Debs!" will get you a "Thanks!" When folks pass away, I go, "That sucks, but that's life." And ooh, when folks link arms with me or hug me, I actually get stiff. It's the bubble. I walk around with an invisible Lady Gaga bubble. I don't know why I wear one... but I do. I don't know why. I suppose it's easier living as I do - being dead inside.

Le cub insists that he also isn't a "feeler", but ranks above me in the spectrum of feelings. Which led me to think, if even le cub ranks above me, who ranks beneath me? Larry David. The cast of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Chelsea Handler. Hmm. Is there anyone I know who ranks below me?!?

ALEXIS! My workshop compadre, Alexis! Thank you, woman, for being feeling-less with me. Even those of us who are dead inside appreciate some good company.