You know that feeling you get when something or someone you really can't stand all of a sudden isn't there? Kind of a light-headedness mingled with a great contentment? Hopefully, you know what I mean, because it's such a terrific sort of feeling I think everyone should have it.
So what's missing? Well, do you want the long answer or the short answer? Because the long answer is: me; even better, the short answer is: I.
As recently as a couple of weeks ago, I was the most boring drip in the world. Being forced to spend all my time with myself was making me goofy. It got so bad I even... It's kind of weird to admit it, but I kind of... Hated myself.
I know, I know... You're thinking: "What a weirdo! Who hates themselves?" I agree with you. Totally gone, right?
Recently, I've decided to celebrate my faults, rather than continuing to punish myself for them. Now you're thinking "What possible faults could this mensch have? He's da bomb!" Thanks. That's sweet.
But no, seriously... I think it's time to come to terms with it.
For one thing, I'm kind of a jerk, and you know, I gotta say I'm okay with that. I'm not going to jump out of the way of a speeding SUV only to send the yuppie motherfucker flowers. I'm gonna tell him to put down the latte and BlackBerry and drive, only maybe not in such nice words, or possibly with utterly un-cryptic hand signals.
I'm also kinda shallow, which was part of my problem in the first place. I was trying not to be, and it turned me into a boring drip. Rest assured, my eating disorder is back in charge of all the holes in my face and I should be back to normal size and temperament before you can spell diverticulitis. And just in time for Pride Day too. Whatever shall I do?
Somewhere along the way I had come to loathe myself. I certainly don't remember loathing myself when I was a little kid, so it probably came about through human interaction. No, in fact, there's no probably about it. Other people made me hate myself. What's worse is: I let them.
Normally, when someone whose opinion I don't respect says something I disagree with ("Maude sucks", maybe, or "I miss Alberta") I can secretly - or not so secretly - laugh at this schmuck for the ludicrosity of his judgement. Yet when the same no-neck mouth-breather says some stupid thing about me, somehow I believe it.
I suppose I could wonder why that is, or I could forget I ever did it and never do it again. Whatever shall I do?
Monday, June 11, 2007
Another Milestone: 800 and Counting
Well, it hardly seems plausible, but there's the number right there.
I had wanted to make my 1000th post from Seattle when I visit there in a couple of weeks, but unless I get a furious dose of inspiration, that doesn't seem likely. Of course, one never knows with inspiration, does one? So it may yet happen.
In the meantime, as these milestones pile upon me, all of the myriad emotions and moods that have gone into this blog over the past eighteen months seem to coalesce into one uber-mood: it gloats (but is humble), it is both cool and hot, and it feels to me as though I may make something of my life yet.
The closest thing to it, I guess, is hope - but the kind of hope that is self-inflicted, a kind of hope for myself. I'm not hoping that the world will one day recognise my peculiar gifts, but rather that one day I'll be able to demonstrate these peculiar gifts to that sector of the public who is most willing and able to recognise them.
To celebrate, I think I'll take the rest of the morning off. And I'll see everybody when I see them, at post number 801.
I had wanted to make my 1000th post from Seattle when I visit there in a couple of weeks, but unless I get a furious dose of inspiration, that doesn't seem likely. Of course, one never knows with inspiration, does one? So it may yet happen.
In the meantime, as these milestones pile upon me, all of the myriad emotions and moods that have gone into this blog over the past eighteen months seem to coalesce into one uber-mood: it gloats (but is humble), it is both cool and hot, and it feels to me as though I may make something of my life yet.
The closest thing to it, I guess, is hope - but the kind of hope that is self-inflicted, a kind of hope for myself. I'm not hoping that the world will one day recognise my peculiar gifts, but rather that one day I'll be able to demonstrate these peculiar gifts to that sector of the public who is most willing and able to recognise them.
To celebrate, I think I'll take the rest of the morning off. And I'll see everybody when I see them, at post number 801.