If you figure out where the headline quote is from (hint: the image at left is a dead giveaway), we should probably be friends.
This week I've been in a funk and I've found myself fairly wrapped up in worrying about what other people think of me.
It's horrible to do that to yourself, by the way. A person could spend their whole life worrying about such things and most of the time, I'm not the type to give a shit.
So what changed?
I guess that's been part of the consumption. I don't know what drove me to do it. I don't know what the inciting incident was. Or maybe I do and my subconscious is protecting me from it. I keep trying to pinpoint it, though. I keep searching the archives of my brain.
A few weeks ago, someone who'd only recently met me suggested that I was the type of person everyone likes. That was profoundly flattering but, sadly, untrue. I know there's a small club of people who dislike me. It was true in high school, it's true now. But I took that compliment and stuck it in my back pocket for days like this.
Apparently, I can be the kind of person everyone likes.
Do I want to be that person? Sure, everyone does, right? Who wants to be hated? (I mean, I try to be all tough n' stuff but it's just a lot of bullshit. Anyone who knows me well will agree with this.)
My mother calls me a marshmallow. I'm a toasted marshmallow. I'm very tough on the outside but inside? All moosh. Total moosh. I'm too sensitive and I know it. I've been working on it for 33 years and I'm not sure it will ever get to the point where I don't hate that about myself. The worst thing is being picked on. I can't handle it. It crumbles me.
In any case, I've been lecturing myself about not writing anything personal in the blog lately and since writing always makes me feel better... And I do. I do feel better now.