@postaday 199; #postaday2011.
Obviously I don’t want to be invisible. I blog, for gawd’s sake. But I’m starting to get used to the idea of talking and not being heard, posting and not being acknowledged, emailing and not hearing back.
When I swim toward the wall, someone’s standing there and not moving over so I can hit it. When I’m on my bicycle, the rich driver in the big tonka truck looks through me, beyond me and accelerates — damn near hitting me. I give a chirp I learned to use years ago when I had to muscle my way through the boys to surf a wave of my own.
My blogging is an indication that although my face or body doesn’t show how interesting I am, my words might. And how nice it is to have words that amuse others, therefore validating my existence?
A few years ago when I first realized I was persona non grata, it bugged me. Now it only bugs me a little. Gradually I’m no longer someone whose input matters, my value is diminished, my place in life reinforced. Bring out the violins? No need.
A few days ago my friend and colleague Fernando Pacheco posted his blog entry, “Doodoo Boys and Shishi Girls: A look at bullying in Hawaii.” I love Fernando. I rarely talk with him; he’s much younger than me, he’s a new dad to the Adorable Miss Lola, married to the amazing Sarah, the front man for the punk-ska band Pimpbot, Continue reading “Cloak of invisibility.”