I'm explicit. This isn't a secret, and it comes with consequences. I don't so much apologize for being explicit as I say something like, “I understand why so and so wouldn't like me given my explicit sentiment.” I don't feel bad about being explicit. I don't feel bad about alienating people who are put off by it.
You're not explicit. The problem there is that when you need to have the adult attitude that requires you to be, and forgo that responsibility, you without hesitation and with no shame persistently blame me for your failures of character.
What this does is create a whiny little bitch gossipy culture in which I'm the persistent enemy and a genuinely mythical lore about my impact or propensity to be a dragon arises.
Easily understood and anticipated, but given the clumsy sloshing about that this culture endures by your behavior, you leave out all the extra consequences of not thinking things through.
I always have to hear things through the grapevine. Well, it's more of a specific thing, “This person actually hates you.” Now, they probably don't really think or care about me at all, but what are high school behaviors without high school nomenclature? What the character who everyone hates is supposed to do is take a long hard look at themselves and reflect on why the consistent theme is that they're the problem. Unfortunately for them, maybe you, I'm the only one who writes and writes publicly explaining in painstaking detail why you're the real piece of shit.
And it looks like this. I was recently told that a couple of Byron's charges didn't feel like they were part of “our circle,” so to speak. They're his friends, and he and I are friends, and incidentally we know each other, and they can't figure out just what it is me and him are doing together or how they fit. For them, given our relative distance in time spent relating, these sentiments make much more sense to me. These are people that Byron has had to coach and prop up and teach. I'm a brazen dick. I'm not even the dad to Byron's mom, I'm more like the drunk uncle in that scenario. To the degree any of these people can just function as “dudes” and keep Byron happy, in my world, we've got no problems.
But when it comes from this, always under threat, list and conception of “friends” that I've opened up and attempted to relate to here, I start to get a little testy. It was relayed to me that people don't feel like I care about them. This has echoed sentiments I've gotten from friends of friends who say something like, “They don't believe you!” about, I don't know, my level of commitment or something? I truly don't know how to handle the person who doesn't recognize invitations out or free drinks or invitations to live for free on a piece of land because they're likely going to be too broke to ever get a real leg up in the world. If you're confused about whether or not I care about you, I don't. I don't care about the person who would treat me like I've seen my grandma get treated, and my dad get treated, and every tragic hero who tries earnestly and often to do nice things and only builds resentment and scorn.
I don't know how else to conceive of these people as anything but cowardly little bitches. We're talking mostly grown men here as well. My best theory is sincere jealousy. I'm as broke as you, yet every single thing I say I want to be in the future, I'm in the middle of right now. You think sustainability is cool and Hitler 2 is gonna fuck the planet? I'm never going to see you out on my land. You've always wanted to learn the trumpet? I'm never going to see you playing one in the parking lot before work. You're genuinely concerned about fake news or politics? Where's your thousands spent in service to making your ideas about how do it better? Where's your support for genuine effort towards something you thought was “really cool” and “wished someone the best” with? You're the whiners and criers and bullshitters who don't do shit, can only talk shit, and hate the smell of my real shit.
I've picked a slew of fake ass mother fuckers that have been grandfathered in as far as “friends” are concerned. I remember and recognize those who give freely and refrain from ignorantly judging. I know who accepts me for me and who I don't have to persuade to be someone worthy of respect. It's not all of you. Hell, it's probably not even most of you. You think you have shit to say to me that will waft over after months of inside jokes and comments? Fine, have fun in your lives, and when I move far enough along in my big real shit, I'll make sure to forget about you too. If I give off some aura or make some comment that makes you feel like a bitch, it's not because I'm necessarily right or too mean, you're probably just a bitch. Try your whole lives, I'm never going to adopt your pathetic self as my own.
