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 gone...my 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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