Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Disappearing Facts

Did you miss me?

Yikes! (ducking the expensive yet lethal Jimmy Choo hurtling at knot-producing velocity towards my head)

I guess now is not the time to invoke my testosterone-driven flip the script ploy. You haven't seen nor heard from me in over a month and here I am asking, "did you miss me?" I know better, so let me try this again with a lot less bravado and a lot more humility.

Hello {insert your name}, please, please, please, pleeeease forgive my disappearing act. That's right, I'm summoning the Hardest Workin' Man in Show Business to "Hit Me - Fo Times!" Anything to ensure that you feel the sincerity of my plea. I'm well, thank you, and the truth is I've missed you something awful. I guess I owe you an explanation. Oops, strike that. I don't guess so, I know so. You deserve to know how That Johnson Boy can pull of the ultimate disappearing act.

Contrary to the emails stating otherwise, yours truly did not enter the Witness Protection Program, nor did I join the UniverSoul Circus. Don't believe my Pop's either - I've never dated Beyonce. Get that in your head Pops. I'm definitely not trying to be on Jay-Z's list of 99 problems. The disappearing facts surrounding my disappearing act...

That Johnson Boy, known as Keith Johnson, has workaholic tendencies.

I say tendencies because I can't really say that I'm fanatical about working. But, once I immerse myself in a task (and not just work-related), only God knows why I get so caught up. I'm talking caught up in a state of stress-induced, adrenaline-pumping, problem-solving, organized chaotic bliss. And just when the chaos threatens to wreck a project, the body delivers the most incredible drug known to mankind called endorphins. When released into the bloodstream, I'm in a Neo-like trance (see The Matrix and know the power!). I don't care what the problem is, I can see the solution. I'm dodging bullets in slow motion. I can work almost 20 hour days where sleep is more of an annoyance than restorative. The only thing capable of piercing the trance are the unwelcomed demands of well-intentioned friends and family. Only then do I recognize how similar my behavior is to that of Generation Playstation. And, much like them I'm left trying to explain that I didn't really snap your head off or growl at you -- you must have heard me wrong. All the while, I'm wondering when will this conversation be over so that I can get back to the task at hand. What you gonna do? Take away my Playstation? LOL

Maybe that's it - choose a less chaotic field of work. Wrong. Folks like me are compelled to work in stressful environments. It feels comfortable. Does that make sense? Anything less is a slow, painful death. That's why I'm at home at ASCAP, where I can legally dangle starving interns from our 7th floor window while quoting... "my office hours are January 'til July. Only then can you have a dang lunch break!" Just kidding.

So, yes my friends, I've been immersed in all things ASCAP. But I'm better this year than in years past. I've enrolled myself in the 1-2 step program. Step one was a beast, but I successfully achieved it by admitting, "Keith Johnson, you're out of balance... again." Step two? Refer back to Step one. And for those of you who are familiar with my situation, I offer you my honest rendition of this classic ending by Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes...

I know you done heard it 10 times or more... but,
I swear I done changed...
I swear I done changed!

So, there you have it, the truth - the whole truth - and nothing but the truth from That Johnson Boy. Folks like me didn't choose to be borderline obsessive. But, as for me, I thank you for caring enough to shatter my trance. While I may protest the intrusion, I desperately need it at times. When your own mother puts out an All-Points Bulletin, you know you've been missing in action much too long. When a brand new friend post a Chi-lites-type entry that basically says, "Have You Seen Him? Tell Me Have You Seen Him?", then yes, you've been gone too long.

As for my parting words, shall I take you to the bridge? Nope, let's go back to Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, who so passionately captured my sentiments when they sang...

Oh, I,
Oooh, I,
Miss You, Miss You, Miss You, Miss You!

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