2002-03-25 - 6:12 p.m.

Fucking Turtleguy...I swear...if I ever find him I am going to kick his ass. Arg.

His disappearance from Diaryland is consuming me. Typically I am not a nosy person, nor am I one who really keeps tabs on anyone. I am the type of person that has friends all over the world and will sit back and wait for them to call me once or twice a year, I hardly ever pick up the phone to check on them. But Turtleguy, Turtleguy has thrown me into a tizzy. I don’t know the guy, with the exception of one initial greeting in my guestbook and a slightly longer *apology* (though I was the one that should have been apologizing to him and in my laziness never got around to it) that he wrote me after I had one of my temper tantrums about one of his entries, I have never had any other correspondence or communication with the guy, (though it should be said that I wouldn’t have argued if he had communicated with me more often and based solely on his entries I would have flown my ass out to Boston on a moments notice just to meet the guy), but I still had, have, the sense that he was a growing and important part of my daily routine. See, Turtleguy got me thinking again. His entries were succinct, hilarious and what I consider to be way above diaryland. I don’t mean that this a place for fledgling writers or people who don’t have and will never have another outlet for their writing, I just simply mean that Turtleguy had the stuff of legends. He was intoxicating. Having him writing something in the same place as I did was kind of like having Pavarotti singing karoke with me at a bar. Turtleguy inspired me, he kicked me in my competitiveness (and yes, I’m saying that like my competitiveness is an actual body part) and got me smoldering again. I wanted to BE Turtleguy. And now he is idol is gone. And that would explain why, after reading an entry in his guestbook that says, “I think Turtleguy is dead...,” I freaked out. That is why for the past four days I have been straining my eyes looking through the morbidly named ‘death notices’ on the on-line Boston Globe.

After reading for a few HOURS I became aware that I didn’t know enough about Turtleguy to make any sort of comprehensive search for him among the pages of deceased Bostonians. So I read every single diary entry he has ever made trying to find something that would set him apart. I am unaware of his age but can make the assumption that he is in twenties, possibly thirties based on the fact that he refers to the ‘Regan Era’, I also know that he has a sister who probably isn’t married since she is a lesbian, that he has a father and step-mother still living, as well as an aunt and that his mother passed away. That is all I know. He never refers to a wife or children so it narrowed things down a little. So I went back to my list of names that were possible Turtleguys and read through their notices. It was at this point that I got a little uneasy, like I was trespassing in my hapless quest to find out where Turtleguy had disappeared to. But I forged on. Until I came across this little tid-bit. “...contributions can be made to The Arlington Association For Retarded Citizens...” WHAT? Is that even allowed in print anymore? Retarded? I had to stop my search then because not only was I kind of giggling to myself like a first grader, but I realized I was actually looking obsessively through death notices of people I don’t know in order to find someone else I don’t know. Could I BE any more pathetic? I guess I can find solace in the knowledge that I am compulsively curious, but I am mostly disgusted with myself.

I will miss Turtleguy, wherever he might have gone. I am grateful for the short time he shared his gift with us, and I am eternally grateful for him for giving me something to aspire to. I hope he is okay and that his name is not among those names I traipsed across in my search. I really really hope he comes back someday if for no other reason than to reawaken the fantasies of all his simpering fans out here. I MISS YOU TURTLEGUY but I swear if I ever find you I WILL kick your ass! And you owe me a back massage for making me sit in this infernal chair for long hours trying to find out what happened to you! God, just come back already!


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