Hey, gang! Welcome to EP 16 of my podcast, “Something That I Wrote.”
Welcome, especially, to the final episode for awhile. I’m out East now. I’ve left Niagara, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back, and we both know now how dependent my stories are on that particular place. I will go back, though. I have to. But until I do, hold on to the souvenirs you’ve got here with these episodes. Pull them out of your suitcase and let them gather dust on your dresser. Pass them on to your lovers and your cab drivers and your colleagues and your barbers and your barmates and your cellmates and your friends. And do me a favour, too, will ya? Tell em all to pass them on to their lovers and their cab drivers and their colleagues and their barbers and their barmates and their friends. Spread them like that nasty rumour you swore you’d keep a secret in highschool. Cast it aside like a watermelon rind, or a forgotten record. I may have used that analogy before – I probably have; in fact I’m nearly certain – but I can’t remember when or where or how or why. That means it’s time for me to go. I am taking my white t-shirt off, and I don’t know when I’ll put it back on. I may not ever, but that’s only if I find something else to wear, that fits me better, and brings out my eyes.
If you have been coming here to hear these stories, from the very bottom of all that I’ve got, which isn’t much, but is enough: thank you. I hope you will keep coming back, because they will be waiting for you, always, like I hope he does for her. You can have them, again and again, whenever you need them, and however, too. Keep coming back, and one day you will come back to find something new. As I’m writing this, I am becoming increasingly aware that I am telling myself this next statement as much as I am telling you, which makes me feel the need to say it as clearly as I can: new stories will come back, if you keep coming back to find them. I can’t say when, I can only say that they will; I know you know I mean it.
This is the last post I will write for awhile, and I’ve struggled to find any words that say any of what I want to. The trouble is I don’t know what that is. I realize now I never will. I was hoping there’d be some way to reflect on what all this means to me, but I just can’t. I thought that that was because I was lazy or a lousy writer. Both those things may be true, but it isn’t why I cannot write on this anymore. I cannot reflect on what all this means to me because it isn’t mine anymore. I’ve given it over to you. I’m sorry if you’ve come here for a long, rambling post, and I’m sorry if you came searching for anything resembling eloquence or meaning or beauty. I’m sorry, but they are all your stories now, and so this is just about all I have left to say
I sound like a cliche and a country song (are they always the same?) but it’s true: I’ve never been good at goodbyes.