Cue Theme Song...
Let me take a moment to analyze my current choice of theme song. It kinda fits when I think about it.
For example, allow me to share with you an addiction. This is not your ordinary addiction, but it's one where you crave a visible reaction from people besides yourself for things you do. Of course, this doesn't have to be a major reaction, nor do you have to do something really big -- just a simple, hopefully positive reaction, to whatever little thing you just did or slightly bigger feat you just accomplished.
I stand up and admit to my friends here at Attention Addicts Anonymous®, yes, I am addicted to attention. ...or some BS hypothetical situation like that.
I've posted countless entries in the past and immediately afterward imagined what certain people on my f-list might think or respond back with. Take my word, don't ever get addicted to this kind of thing. It's worse than cigarettes. Although I don't smoke. (well, not... regularly... anyway.) Now that a major player in this game has parted ways with my f-list, the clarity of the situation smacks me in the head.
"WELL THERE'S YOUR PROBLEM!" (Adam Savage from the MythBusters can say that line and it's funny as hell)
I met roundingthebend for lunch once, who was one of K's old friends from their highschool, that moved here from Seattle a few years back, and who has since dropped off of the face of the planet, or at least so it seems (hint hint, by the way). This happened maybe three months after the breakup, so the discussion centered mostly around that. She was surprisingly interested in what I had to say about it, and had some pretty sound advice to offer in return.
The one thing she said that has stuck with me ever since was that she felt I "lack a cheering section" in my life.
...Let's go with this for a moment.
Schoolwork was a problem for me growing up. I was smart and knew how to do it, I just could not get it done in a timely fashion to save my life. In hindsight I think it was just a case of it being massively under-stimulating -- ten minutes into writing things out of a book onto paper and I'd grow deathly bored. My grandma and the teachers in my life were always looking for a way to fix whatever it was that was holding me back. Over the course of my school life I did things such as taking piano lessons, playing trumpet in band class, playing volleyball, playing soccer, and singing in a school-chorus. All things that were either athletic or artistic, and that would, as the grandma/teachers hoped, maybe motivate me along the schoolwork path. Disappointment among them did arise each time that I decided I was no longer interested in whichever one of those I was doing.
So then, the summer before my sophomore year, from the horizon arises my newfound passion and desire to learn figure skating -- which is both athletic and artistic, mind you. The reaction I got from sharing this was much like the typical reaction to wanting to eat an apple but pulling a rotten one from the basket. I even vocalized the fact that ice skating would be something I felt would motivate me in my schoolwork, but was pretty much told to go fuck myself in every way that a Christian School official could say go fuck yourself without using those exact words. And I kid you not, even to this day, I still get the occasional "you could sing in church if you wanted to, you have a good voice," or the "see you could play the piano if you had just stayed with it" from the grandma.
So things the adults thought I should do and be good at were fine, but what I wanted and had strong emotional backing to learn was like rotten fruit, basically.
And if you think I am bitter about this, well you're God Damned right I am bitter about it.
Do I lack a cheering section? I do so much that it resulted in this heavy addiction to attention and approval.
So I conclude by saying something that is a bit more realistic than how I thought life was supposed to be in those days:
There is no you; there is only me.
There is no fucking you; there is only me.
Only.
For example, allow me to share with you an addiction. This is not your ordinary addiction, but it's one where you crave a visible reaction from people besides yourself for things you do. Of course, this doesn't have to be a major reaction, nor do you have to do something really big -- just a simple, hopefully positive reaction, to whatever little thing you just did or slightly bigger feat you just accomplished.
I stand up and admit to my friends here at Attention Addicts Anonymous®, yes, I am addicted to attention. ...or some BS hypothetical situation like that.
I've posted countless entries in the past and immediately afterward imagined what certain people on my f-list might think or respond back with. Take my word, don't ever get addicted to this kind of thing. It's worse than cigarettes. Although I don't smoke. (well, not... regularly... anyway.) Now that a major player in this game has parted ways with my f-list, the clarity of the situation smacks me in the head.
"WELL THERE'S YOUR PROBLEM!" (Adam Savage from the MythBusters can say that line and it's funny as hell)
I met roundingthebend for lunch once, who was one of K's old friends from their highschool, that moved here from Seattle a few years back, and who has since dropped off of the face of the planet, or at least so it seems (hint hint, by the way). This happened maybe three months after the breakup, so the discussion centered mostly around that. She was surprisingly interested in what I had to say about it, and had some pretty sound advice to offer in return.
The one thing she said that has stuck with me ever since was that she felt I "lack a cheering section" in my life.
...Let's go with this for a moment.
Schoolwork was a problem for me growing up. I was smart and knew how to do it, I just could not get it done in a timely fashion to save my life. In hindsight I think it was just a case of it being massively under-stimulating -- ten minutes into writing things out of a book onto paper and I'd grow deathly bored. My grandma and the teachers in my life were always looking for a way to fix whatever it was that was holding me back. Over the course of my school life I did things such as taking piano lessons, playing trumpet in band class, playing volleyball, playing soccer, and singing in a school-chorus. All things that were either athletic or artistic, and that would, as the grandma/teachers hoped, maybe motivate me along the schoolwork path. Disappointment among them did arise each time that I decided I was no longer interested in whichever one of those I was doing.
So then, the summer before my sophomore year, from the horizon arises my newfound passion and desire to learn figure skating -- which is both athletic and artistic, mind you. The reaction I got from sharing this was much like the typical reaction to wanting to eat an apple but pulling a rotten one from the basket. I even vocalized the fact that ice skating would be something I felt would motivate me in my schoolwork, but was pretty much told to go fuck myself in every way that a Christian School official could say go fuck yourself without using those exact words. And I kid you not, even to this day, I still get the occasional "you could sing in church if you wanted to, you have a good voice," or the "see you could play the piano if you had just stayed with it" from the grandma.
So things the adults thought I should do and be good at were fine, but what I wanted and had strong emotional backing to learn was like rotten fruit, basically.
And if you think I am bitter about this, well you're God Damned right I am bitter about it.
Do I lack a cheering section? I do so much that it resulted in this heavy addiction to attention and approval.
So I conclude by saying something that is a bit more realistic than how I thought life was supposed to be in those days:
There is no you; there is only me.
There is no fucking you; there is only me.
Only.