“Aren’t You Going To Write Your Blog Post For Today,” . . .

. . . my girlfriend asked me as I dished out a small serving of Singapore Noodles onto my plate.  I broke the chopsticks and rubbed away the remaining splinters away with my thumbs and dug into the thin, curry flavored noodles.  I choked slightly as I attempted to chuckle while chewing with my mouth closed.  “Do you not have a topic?”

“You don’t know how blogging works, do you,” I asked as I finally swallowed the noodles in my mouth and then washed it down with some expensive looking cheap beer.

“What do you mean?  I have a blog, too.”

“Topics are for beginners.  A person doesn’t need to worry about theme or topics or plot.  As long as you strike the right tone, readers will think that you’re writing about something even if they don’t know what.”

“What?”

“Why, I could even write this conversation, word for word, and as long as I did it in the right manner, people would enjoy it.  In fact, I’ll do that tonight.”

“But we’re just eating cheap Chinese food.  Nothing’s happening.  There’s nothing interesting about this.”

“I agree,” I said, louder than I had intended, “but the fact remains that an experienced writer, or one who is more lucky than talented, can make the mundane seem important.  And by the time you’re making something seem like something it might as well be something, at least on paper.”

My girlfriend stopped chewing and stared at me.  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

“That is because your mind is too literal to comprehend the basic tenets of deception.  It takes guile to fool someone.”

I was startled, but I can’t say I was surprised, when she threw the noodles that were on her plate on to my head.  A piece of chicken toppled off my nose and I was able to catch it in my mouth before it dropped to the floor.  She poured more noodles on her place and began to eat again.  She wasn’t angry.  I figured she got it all out when she upended her dinner over my hair.  I was happy that was the end of it and there would be no ensuing fight that I would have to work against the rest of the evening, but she had ruined the experiment I had set for myself – to write about nothing and make it seem like it was about something.  My offensive comments and her rash actions had forced a plot into the evening, and now the entire story had a purpose.

But there was still some room for breathing; would it be about my girlfriend’s inability to grasp the bare bones of art as a whole, making something from nothing and fooling the audience?  Or would it be my insensitivity to her view and abilities?  Or would it be how, through all the dumb, careless and petty things we say, the bonds between people will always survive?  I don’t know . . . that will be up for the readers to decide. 

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