I let what I was giving fucks about percolate in my brain for a while… What was I giving a fuck about that wasn’t doing me one bit of good?
An unanswered text clued me in. I looked good and hard at how much I think about what I reckon other people think of me. How what they say or do or don’t means something about me and/or the relationship. I don’t think I have ever questioned the good sense of this line of thinking. Or saw it for the thinking it was. Much less noticed how it seemed to be some kind of default thought stream. A perpetual energy suck, running so stealthily in the background I didn’t even challenge the incessant hum.
Now I know this is, at least to a degree, a carry-over from the days of old when getting shunned from the tribe meant you might become the lion’s dinner. It’s old. It’s primal. It’s outdated. Yet…
I imagine (<—– key word!) that people might not know what to make of me.
I am very happy. WTF is that all about? Has to be fake or drug induced.
I’m kinda weird and I have what some might consider bizarre attitudes about many things.Beyond friendship, honesty, some laughs and companionship (when I feel like it which isn’t often because I’m a hermit) I don’t want anything from anybody. Maybe comes off as odd and people don’t know what to do with that other than the fucking obvious which is to enjoy it. Because while I am a quirky little recluse who gets off on tons of alone time, I’m also loyal. Like your goddamn dog, loyal. Until you give me a solid reason not to be. Then I’ve got no issue taking the needed action of snip-snip! Perhaps people sense that as me being ruthlessly self-preserving even though any sane person would do the same given the same circumstances. Because, you know, everybody thinks the way I do!
Maybe some people think I’m arrogant because I won’t play inside my assigned box. Or stay quiet. Or pretend to care about trivial bullshit that some people take really seriously because they haven’t read the blog post about knowing what to give a fuck about versus what not to give a fuck about.
I’m too much.
Or I’m not enough.
In my head, there was a shit-ton of thinking produced as possible explanations for why people do what they do. I have spent way too much energy on such “explanations” and that energy has not been used wisely. Namely because what people do has a hell of a lot more to do with them than it ever could about me. Sometimes people are just busy or something and it really, truly doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me. No matter… me trying to conjure up reliable explanations by guessing, imagining and/or speculating is stupid. Why? Because I will get it wrong. This bears repeating… Since I cannot possibly know what it is in the heart and mind of an individual without fucking asking them, I will likely get it wrong if I attempt to make something up. Which is precisely what is happening with the speculating and the guessing.
I suspect that I might have been hanging at least a piece of my perceived self-worth on that speculative and imaginary hook. I bet some other people do this too which is why I am writing this and sharing it. Because friends, hanging your anything on speculation is a terrible, terrible idea! It will fuck you up!
I know there are going to be times when I get into another tangle of baseline thinking. It’s a human thing; happens to the best of us. Every single one of us are making shit up about each other all the time – it’s just something we do. We make shit up about everything. Everything. Our experience of reality is made of thought. When some thought fuckery is afoot, remember it is all just thinking and just because we think it doesn’t make it true. (<—- beginnings of a catchy jingle!)
There is no telling what I will do with the energy boost this insight has gifted me with.
Seems like it might be fun to play around with what I do give fucks about.