cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

yoohoo, catch twenty-two

the friends-only lockdown didn’t exactly work. i just avoided this place, which isn’t at all good, not because i’m all that attached to online journaling but because i refuse to avoid dealing with my feelings anymore. repression is not your friend; repression hangs out after school behind the bleachers and smokes with your other not-friend lack of closure. stay away.

so, in the future, i will probably continue to write friends-only entries but the bulk of my spew will be directed at my ever-adoring, anonymous public. come on, you didn’t really think i’d lock you out of my o-so-profound inner life, did you?

<chokes on the tongue lodged firmly in her cheek>

the truth is, i have always had a problem with the fact that not everyone in the world thinks i’m at least an okay human being. i’m getting over this, slowly, but it’s taking quite a bit of rewiring. i suppose this is the curse of growing up in a healthy, happy, downright saccharine little community of friends and family. it trains you to expect that everyone likes you, at least a little, and if they like you a little, well then gosh darn it if you only worked a smidgen harder you could get them to love you and isn’t that what everyone should do, after all, love you? yes by golly it ding dong dang sure is, so get out there and spread some good cheer and i don’t want to see your darling little mug again until you’ve hugged at least fifty-two, make that fifty-three potential FRIENDS! hallelujah!

in my personal horoscope, the year 2000 will always be known as “the year of the reality check”. this makes 2001 “the year of the realistic renewal of partial hope, i guess”.

each day i have a little clearer idea of what the people i encounter are really about, i think. this is not to say that i’m cynical, no. i had rose-colored corrective laser surgery long ago. but i’m just a tiny bit closer to dealing with not being liked. being disliked, even. being disrespected, now …

maybe some people can settle for lives in which they deal with people who disrespect them, or yell at them, or beat them over the head with chainsaws. i can’t. this is not to trumpet some major endowment of self-worth. this is about wanting people to at least be straight with me, to talk to me like we are all human beings. i don’t care if you’re the senior associate vice-president of the known universe; you still have to look me in the eye and tell me what you don’t like for me to respect you. period.

(of course, there is always that option of “what do i care whether or not you respect me?” if you can say that, do! i’m serious! i wish i could. it still matters to me.)

there’s no grandfather clause here. i have to look at each day with a new sense of improvement because if i don’t, i will endlessly beat myself up for what i didn’t do two tuesdays ago. and who really remembers what i didn’t do two tuesdays ago?

… except when i write about it publicly. ah, catch twenty-two, you have returned. i missed you so. let me kiss up and down your dainty arm and whisper sweet french-accented nothings in your moistened ear.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

∞