I
acted like a normal person today. I called around about different
places to take music lessons. I spent money I rightfully earned on
whatever struck me as a thing I wanted. I ignored appeals from The
Man to go into work because I don't need to yet. I grabbed lunch. I
went to a movie and actually got things from the concession stand.
Then I went to renew my gym membership. Normal, right? Pro-active,
grabbing my life by the horns and making initiating steps into a
resolved flow and future.
The alternative to my day is the story actually in my mind. I “missed my chance” to get pinged on first and stay on all day working. I “wasted” money on a massively overpriced hot dog and Snickers bites. I'm “distracting” myself by introducing an obligation not to waste my money at the gym when running, though bad for the joints, is free and I sold my free weights before I moved. $17 per half hour for lessons? Aren't Youtube and Google a thing?
I think it's reasonable enough to assess my head as generally my enemy. It has a contrary posture by nature. One might argue it's growing more conservative. My car will blow up again. I'll maybe hurt something. One day someone will actually call me back and be prepared to get work done on the land. So, naturally, every penny at all times should be reserved for the Prime Directive goal. Or, so my shallow brain wants to believe.
I feel there's been a dangerous confusion going on lately about my disposition and what I am or am not asking of you. I hope to address this now. The first paragraph is who the world wants me to be. The second who I am. The first describes the work I do to stay “grounded.” The second is the nag that provokes comments and blogs. The less we see or know each other, you’re gonna reflexively crave the first, while online I’m only going to be offering the second.
I expect nothing of you. When you do something that seems in line with what I like, I'll try to show it. That's about it. I'm not someone who seeks pity or sympathy. I try to state things as I see them or capture the moment when I'm managing to feel. That's it. We can grow apart. We never talk. We can belabor misunderstandings until you justify whatever it is you need to about me. I'm already over it.
Eminem's line, “God sent me to piss the world off” has been ringing in my head. I'm suspicious of the idea that it's in line with my “purpose” to slowly alienate nearly everyone I've ever known. There's the dumb acquaintance or friend who chases everyone away because they got way over their head into a pyramid scheme. There's the one who actively changes into a vicious ideologue or increasingly fearful spite monster that chases people away. I've learned that by simply talking and asking questions, I piss off LOADS of people, more often than not at random, and I could claim to have never seen it coming but for the previous years of our nonexistent relationship.
When I was burning the candles of “friendship” and “family” too hot, this concerned me. It no longer does.
I mostly think to bring this up after a facebook friend got angry at me for, what I can only try to sum up as not “doing more.” My capacity for stating the obvious and “not thinking hard enough” about what to do next really frustrated her. If I'm getting her position wrong, I think none of us will ever know. Either way, without rehashing what I don't think is the point, I still have concerns regarding doing for the sake of doing and have impressed upon you many times how we should better constitute “more.” Her contention I feel had little to do with what my statement was about in the first place, but nonetheless, I got a mini exciting little exchange out of it.
Along with Eminem, after that exchange I had Shia LaBeouf's “JUST DO IT” screaming in my head the rest of the day as well. So often am I encouraged to just do things to whatever end, I decided to take the advice. Did I spend more than I wanted? Who's pretending I even know what I want!? I just did it. It was mine to do.
The alternative to my day is the story actually in my mind. I “missed my chance” to get pinged on first and stay on all day working. I “wasted” money on a massively overpriced hot dog and Snickers bites. I'm “distracting” myself by introducing an obligation not to waste my money at the gym when running, though bad for the joints, is free and I sold my free weights before I moved. $17 per half hour for lessons? Aren't Youtube and Google a thing?
I think it's reasonable enough to assess my head as generally my enemy. It has a contrary posture by nature. One might argue it's growing more conservative. My car will blow up again. I'll maybe hurt something. One day someone will actually call me back and be prepared to get work done on the land. So, naturally, every penny at all times should be reserved for the Prime Directive goal. Or, so my shallow brain wants to believe.
I feel there's been a dangerous confusion going on lately about my disposition and what I am or am not asking of you. I hope to address this now. The first paragraph is who the world wants me to be. The second who I am. The first describes the work I do to stay “grounded.” The second is the nag that provokes comments and blogs. The less we see or know each other, you’re gonna reflexively crave the first, while online I’m only going to be offering the second.
I expect nothing of you. When you do something that seems in line with what I like, I'll try to show it. That's about it. I'm not someone who seeks pity or sympathy. I try to state things as I see them or capture the moment when I'm managing to feel. That's it. We can grow apart. We never talk. We can belabor misunderstandings until you justify whatever it is you need to about me. I'm already over it.
Eminem's line, “God sent me to piss the world off” has been ringing in my head. I'm suspicious of the idea that it's in line with my “purpose” to slowly alienate nearly everyone I've ever known. There's the dumb acquaintance or friend who chases everyone away because they got way over their head into a pyramid scheme. There's the one who actively changes into a vicious ideologue or increasingly fearful spite monster that chases people away. I've learned that by simply talking and asking questions, I piss off LOADS of people, more often than not at random, and I could claim to have never seen it coming but for the previous years of our nonexistent relationship.
When I was burning the candles of “friendship” and “family” too hot, this concerned me. It no longer does.
I mostly think to bring this up after a facebook friend got angry at me for, what I can only try to sum up as not “doing more.” My capacity for stating the obvious and “not thinking hard enough” about what to do next really frustrated her. If I'm getting her position wrong, I think none of us will ever know. Either way, without rehashing what I don't think is the point, I still have concerns regarding doing for the sake of doing and have impressed upon you many times how we should better constitute “more.” Her contention I feel had little to do with what my statement was about in the first place, but nonetheless, I got a mini exciting little exchange out of it.
Along with Eminem, after that exchange I had Shia LaBeouf's “JUST DO IT” screaming in my head the rest of the day as well. So often am I encouraged to just do things to whatever end, I decided to take the advice. Did I spend more than I wanted? Who's pretending I even know what I want!? I just did it. It was mine to do.
I
think it's important to keep in mind that a large portion of my being
is about identifying opportunities for restraint. Are any of you
under the impression I have a problem “doing things” or saying
yes to myself and my desires? Because if you're angry at me for
“wallowing” in my free time and money, you've missed the point so
hard the league should consider banning you from playing again.
I want that real real. I want that sense that drives and motivates and cuts out the right time and can be sustained and be taken pride in. I want it any and every chance I can get it. I have half a dozen fat girls on OkCupid that are as equally excited and free to go bowling as I am, but that's not that real real. I could recount my time taking in media and movies as me being some aspiring critic or nuanced aficionado, but that doesn't have shit to do with the point or brunt of what I'm doing or why. It's why I don't like most of the shit you post. It's why you don't see or don't bother with most of the shit I post.
I'll tell you right now, I don't care how old you get, how comfortable or resolved, or how much you think you've really figured out. I know, it's a time honored tradition, that the real real of nailing down definitions and digging up the roots of feelings and parsing out difficult language isn't your bag. I know the very core of my being pisses you the fuck off. Life's hard enough, you don't need me getting rooted in your brain against your will. I'm a “catastrophe friend.” I'll be there when you're in the dark, and until then, I'm only going to make your world darker if you're not like or accepting of me.
This I feel I've finally come to terms with. I'm a lock, in person. I turn on the charm offensive, I make you laugh, I help you cross lines, and I shower affection and cash to smooth over any rough parts. But on that trip home? Oh no no no, what did we do? What did he say? You know, he's always been a bad influence. Have you read his blog? Dude's a psycho! Life could be so much simpler if he'd just let it. I've got my partner and hobbies and I work to keep myself involved. Why can't he just find his own corner of the world to disappear into?
Fair assessment or not, all I have is speculation. You don't talk. Maybe more specifically, you don't talk to me. Again, no blame or shame or pity party, calm down, it's just a fact. I have friends who talk to me, don't worry, it's just not you, and I'm not that unsure of why. Egomania does me no favors, but neither do appeals and quips and random check-ins, so I default to what's easiest. Oh well, normal people have to be loved at their worst for you to be allowed their best! I think my soul just threw up a little.
It's only in the real real that one is willing to concede their joke of an existence and nothing worthwhile posture. Do you want to say that about yourself? Fuck no. But if and when you can't say things when they're true, what good are you? I'm just as quick to toot my horn when that beautiful sound is due. Let me say it like this, if you were having an incredibly hard time finding meaning or direction, I wouldn't tell you to join a failing union and to stop bitching. First, I'd probably invite you to lunch, and then I'd start asking a dozen questions.
That's a tell, by the way. When you don't know something and remain incapable of asking questions, you make your position on the other person increasingly their fault. Now they're not just annoying or whiny, but hopeless and combative or defensive yada yada because you got incensed by a line you might not have understood. It happens fluidly and all the time. It's the only way I know how to not take it personally either silence or a bit of a fight. If I was easy to understand, I wouldn't be on my 651st blog. That you would have anything less devoted to your ever-changing existence is what perpetually scares the shit out of me. That is, because you seem to generally have all the answers, somehow, even when your favorite answer is silence.
I want that real real. I want that sense that drives and motivates and cuts out the right time and can be sustained and be taken pride in. I want it any and every chance I can get it. I have half a dozen fat girls on OkCupid that are as equally excited and free to go bowling as I am, but that's not that real real. I could recount my time taking in media and movies as me being some aspiring critic or nuanced aficionado, but that doesn't have shit to do with the point or brunt of what I'm doing or why. It's why I don't like most of the shit you post. It's why you don't see or don't bother with most of the shit I post.
I'll tell you right now, I don't care how old you get, how comfortable or resolved, or how much you think you've really figured out. I know, it's a time honored tradition, that the real real of nailing down definitions and digging up the roots of feelings and parsing out difficult language isn't your bag. I know the very core of my being pisses you the fuck off. Life's hard enough, you don't need me getting rooted in your brain against your will. I'm a “catastrophe friend.” I'll be there when you're in the dark, and until then, I'm only going to make your world darker if you're not like or accepting of me.
This I feel I've finally come to terms with. I'm a lock, in person. I turn on the charm offensive, I make you laugh, I help you cross lines, and I shower affection and cash to smooth over any rough parts. But on that trip home? Oh no no no, what did we do? What did he say? You know, he's always been a bad influence. Have you read his blog? Dude's a psycho! Life could be so much simpler if he'd just let it. I've got my partner and hobbies and I work to keep myself involved. Why can't he just find his own corner of the world to disappear into?
Fair assessment or not, all I have is speculation. You don't talk. Maybe more specifically, you don't talk to me. Again, no blame or shame or pity party, calm down, it's just a fact. I have friends who talk to me, don't worry, it's just not you, and I'm not that unsure of why. Egomania does me no favors, but neither do appeals and quips and random check-ins, so I default to what's easiest. Oh well, normal people have to be loved at their worst for you to be allowed their best! I think my soul just threw up a little.
It's only in the real real that one is willing to concede their joke of an existence and nothing worthwhile posture. Do you want to say that about yourself? Fuck no. But if and when you can't say things when they're true, what good are you? I'm just as quick to toot my horn when that beautiful sound is due. Let me say it like this, if you were having an incredibly hard time finding meaning or direction, I wouldn't tell you to join a failing union and to stop bitching. First, I'd probably invite you to lunch, and then I'd start asking a dozen questions.
That's a tell, by the way. When you don't know something and remain incapable of asking questions, you make your position on the other person increasingly their fault. Now they're not just annoying or whiny, but hopeless and combative or defensive yada yada because you got incensed by a line you might not have understood. It happens fluidly and all the time. It's the only way I know how to not take it personally either silence or a bit of a fight. If I was easy to understand, I wouldn't be on my 651st blog. That you would have anything less devoted to your ever-changing existence is what perpetually scares the shit out of me. That is, because you seem to generally have all the answers, somehow, even when your favorite answer is silence.
