Originally posted elsewhere, December 4, 2013
I write. A lot. And, yes, I can hear the collective “D’oh!” from the chorus, thanks.
I also read. Also a lot.
I follow this crumb or that electronic heart or a comment that shows up in my feed. Sometimes, I read a sentence or three and roll my eyes and click away. Because they’re when the writer meant there, or Holy wall of text, Batman! or “could of,” or “defiantly,” when “definitely” is the appropriate word. It’s my one elitism, and I won’t apologize for it. Words are important. Seeing them abused and misused gives me mental hives. It burns.
Sometimes I feel the passion, not of simple disagreement, but of violent negation of the words glowing on my screen.
Sometimes, I just shrug and think to myself, Meh.
Occasionally, though, I feel the words. They hit like a sucker punch or a single-tail, they caress like a lover, they enfold me in a blanket of need or love or nostalgia or empathy. Shivers chase one another around my spine like squirrels playing. My toes curl. My breath catches.
I read. I reread. My lips move, usually in silence, as I taste the words.
And I have another crush. Another brain-licking-frenzy inducing crush.
Crushes on strangers make me shy, so I usually just don’t say anything at all. Sometimes, after this word induced wetness has been inspired repeatedly by the same person, I will work up the nerve to send a request. Inane prattle in a message that hides the fact that I want to be slurping up your grey matter while you sleep, because one doesn’t wish to be too creepy, you know.
Sometimes, I am so blown away that I just can’t bear to send a request, a check-yes-or-no note to that smart girl or boy in the next row. So I just admire from a distance, and hope they will notice me.
If I’m lucky, they do. I get a like, or a comment, on something I’ve written, from someone whose brain I’m already licking through the interwebz connection, and I feel like the cute boy (or girl) just made eye contact, smiled at me.
Or they send a request of their own. They ask me to the dance.
Either way, it makes me ridiculously happy.
It’s pretty awesome when the stalkees invite me in for tea.