[851] Exception To The Rule

You'll do well to take this blog with a grain of salt, then a few more grains of salt, and then a shot of tequila, because I'm an hour past a bottle of wine, and I don't drink regularly anymore.

The theme for this paragraph is insecurity. I think I've mostly lost a concept of this. I remember having no confidence in my looks. I still get indignant to condescension for sure. But, at bottom, I have such an overwhelming “fuck you” kind of impulse, I don't really care. When pressed, I will find my own way, do my own thing, or have you calling my mental gymnastics and poor attempt at accounting for your solid point about my being evidence I don't have a prayer.

Why, ever, would you listen to something I say? It's the same reason you have music you enjoy or lines in books. Some shit I said resonated. I am not “the truth” by virtue of the bravado or intensity by which I say something. If I say, “That goofy looking 5 bitch” you should know, by naked context, I'm probably being a cunt. How on Earth could you reasonably invest in my sentiment, emotionally or otherwise? If that kind of thing fucks you up, is the problem that I said it, (yeah, maybe, but) or that you haven't worked out what it's speaking to you in how you feel?

I can promise you, and I don't make promises lightly, I don't feel as bad as you. My feelings are reserved for things that matter to me. If you remove yourself from that space, well, fuck, what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? I'm invested in your mind, your contribution, your sense of self extremely independent of me or what you feel about me. Maybe this is hard to understand, but I'm not looking to play you like an instrument. I don't want the script of “what girls like” or “signs of a super best friend.”

I will not just fail you at doing this, but I will attack that you'd even want me to. You will never, I mean never, get along or feel comfortable with me, if you want me to treat you like anything but the exception to the rule. You are in my orbit, and I'm in yours. Call yourself an asteroid instead of a planet, and I'll send you off to wander space. (Like, legit, you can tell I'm still drunk).

I'm not an overtly feeling person (news?). I hate things. I have sentimental overflows of lovey-doviness when I'm tipsy. But, by and large, I'm just watching. I'm just thinking. My sentiments are a bad analysis of one idiot at any one point in time, maybe underfed, maybe tired, maybe with a chip on his shoulder. God help you if you've couched a sense of yourself in that. We are never closer than when my words are perhaps window dressing on your fantastic Christmas extravaganza. Don't take me more seriously than you take yourself, and maybe take yourself less seriously.

I feel like I need to write blogs like this intermittently because, while it's not lost on me, not everyone is really in on it, but people don't like me. They really, really, don't like me. And they don't like me for all of the easy things like my mouth and what it says, or throwaway sentiments regarding arrogance. But, the deep down reason to not like me is when I immediately recognize where you're vulnerable, and then attacking it. It's a legitimate reason to suspect a person should not be in your circle.

Maybe you don't like your look. Maybe you're inarticulate. Maybe you've had a series of real traumas and life-altering experiences. I'll find it. I'll poke it. I want you to break the power it has over you like I try to break, or have broken, the things that have fucked with me. I hated my mom, and now am ambivalent. I hate condescension, but I'm not getting fired over it. I had no confidence or can routinely joke about a receding hairline or a fat ass. Those are not the things on my mind if I turn on what I am and pursue what I want.

It's not hard for me to point out the obvious. Maybe it's obvious you're fat as fuck. You know you're fat as fuck. That's not interesting. That's not meaningful. If you linger on that, you're selling both of us short. But that's what people do. They say, “YOU SAID THE OBVIOUS!” and hate you. Or they wish you didn't notice. I have a habit of noticing. I have a habit of exploring the darkest implications. I have a habit of looking down on the mythology you create about doing so or why. I might create a place that couches your being into something I better understand or can work with that could be just as obvious to you if you let it.

I want the exceptions to the rule. I want the contrary evidence. I want the choice to dismiss the pain and the feelings and to do something better. I want it from myself, and therefore I want it from you. I have to regularly drag it out of myself in writing and throwing myself at things which I find difficult and frequently hurt me. Whatever you do to do the same I hope is less dramatic, but no less required. I won't suffer you thinking less of yourself than I think of myself. I regard myself for the reasons I write about and for the things I create and work on. Think or say anything you want about my place in life, if it's shit, you'll get the standard “fuck you” and I'll continue doing my thing. Grant yourself the same capacity.