I am a flounderer, says W., anyone can see that. I'm perpetually floundering at sea, says W. That's the word for you: flounderer. There's nothing that doesn't set you off balance.
W. has always feared for my emotional balance, but it's getting worse. Take what happened on the way to the Jandek gig, he says. You thought we were lost, horribly lost, when we were actually not lost at all, he says. You were asking everyone where the gig was, he says, all those tramps. What do tramps know about Jandek?, says W. Why were you bothering them?
And then, on the brink of the venue, at its threshold, you collapsed, didn't you?, says W. It was a horrible spectacle, says W., a grown man who'd lost control. You were weeping at the threshold!, says W. with great emphasis. You wanted to turn back, didn't you? To get a taxi going the other way? W. was concerned, he says. It was never as bad as that, he says, not before. Weeping at the threshold! A grown man!
Still, he learned something about me from the whole episode. Or rather, it was reconfirmed for him exactly the kind of person I am. A flounderer and a weeper, says W. At the threshold.
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