Flee, Flee For Your Lives

Recently, while watching an episode of Doctor Who, I saw something funny. Being myself, I thought to share this funny thing with my dad, so I went to go find him and I told him such. He then asked how work was last night and we held a lengthy conversation on the topic. After about ten or fifteen minutes of conversation he demanded I make a blog post this morning. I needed to clip my fingernails and wasn’t willing to sit through a conversation about why I need to update regularly (I know all that, thanks, and saying it over and over again won’t improve my understanding) so I left.

I was then accused of running away from conversations that make me uncomfortable.

Uh.

Well, OBVIOUSLY.

Of course I’m going to leave if I feel uncomfortable. Conversations that make me uncomfortable or are annoyingly repetitive or turning into lectures from the other person (before you say it, I know I’ve been on the other end of the lecture bit most of the time; I ramble) are undesirable stimuli and I see no reason I should have to sit through that. I mean, courtesy can only take you so far. That and the stipulation my dad threw in at the end was that I only talk about what I want to talk about and not anything anyone else started. This in spite of the fact that we just held an extremely long conversation about work that HE started.

Anyway, on a cerebral level I understand that conversations what make us uncomfortable need to happen from time to time. Birds and the bees, and whatnot. The thing that cheeses me off is first of all that I get shamed for it. If it makes me uncomfortable, I’m not liable to stick around. I’m sorry, but I’m not. I don’t sit around on thumbtacks for kicks, you know. It’s a perfectly freaking natural reaction. If somebody is playing Justin Bieber music really loud, I’ll cover my ears and walk away. If it’s sunny outside, I’ll stay inside (or wear sunglasses).

The other thing is, yeah, from a certain standpoint this conversation could be considered necessary. I’ll be the first to admit that I should be updating this more often. Sorry about that, by the way. But I don’t see the reason for me to be deluged with frank demands to update numerous times after I’ve acknowledged the fact. For one thing, my inner critic is extremely attentive and good at what he does; it comes naturally to perfectionists. I’ve been annoying MYSELF plenty to get a move on with this and actually one of the main reasons why I got so cheesed off earlier this morning is because I was actually planning to make this post and then I get hit in the face with an unnecessary and socially uncomfortable reminder that makes me feel even more inadequate than I already make myself feel.

And you know, I can understand how my dad’s thinking from this perspective. Where he’s standing, he has no real idea whether I’m saying I want to post because I genuinely WANT to post or just to get him off my back. But another thing: I get really freaking tired of thinking from other peoples’ point of view. Yeah, I’m supposed to love others and be all Jesus-y to them and Christianity and stuff, but it’s DRIVING. ME. INSANE. I get EXTREMELY tired of putting others’ needs before my own and I’m tired of walking in others’ shoes. My feet hurt, too – and don’t even get me started on stiletto heels. I have my own freaking shoes and they have custom-made inserts because my feet are all messed up somehow, so you can all keep your shoes, I’m done with them.

I’m just SO TIRED of dealing with other people. Maybe that’s why I sit in my basement all the time and play video games. Everywhere else I go I’m preoccupied with being courteous, being nice, being Christian and being polite. Down here I don’t bloody well have to. For the sake of the world at large I hope I get better at this, because if I have to go all Donna Noble on somebody there won’t be much left of their eardrums by the time I’m through with them.

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