I always want people to like me best. I want them to be on my side. They don’t have to be mean to others or not be friends with others. But they should prefer me and always agree with me when I point out the wrongs I have suffered.
What really happens, though, is that people try to get me to see the point of view of my enemies. They lecture me on how I should tune it out or maybe just cut the other person a little slack. My enemies aren’t such bad people. Why let them bother me?
I think other people also want to be the favorite. They also want to be understood when they’ve been hurt by their enemies.
I wonder if they would like it if I delivered a lecture about maybe they should be the bigger person. The world will never have the answer to that question, though, because I don’t lecture people about how they should feel. And I will usually have their back when they need that.
And so I don’t understand why it is not reciprocal.
I don’t smoke pot. I never have other than one attempt thirty years ago that did not a thing for me. It makes me feel stupid that pot is not my thing. It seems to be a normal part of other people’s lives, either past or present. That makes me feel stupid too.
I don’t understand why I have to know things that other people never notice. I seem always to be in the right place at the right time to be a witness. What I see helps me form opinions that I feel strongly about. But sometimes I’m the only other person who was a witness. I suspect people think that I’m full of shit. If anything, I’m full of details and memories and stories that I can’t get rid of. And then I miss the moments.
One of my friends thinks one of our co-workers stole her mail. I was concerned that maybe my friend was getting paranoid. But then I remembered all the things she has figured out lately from little clues that I missed when I was giving assholes the benefit of the doubt. And now I think it is entirely possible this person did steal my friend’s mail. I feel bad that I doubted her at all.
How can I be this mixture of fantasy and concrete? Shouldn’t I always be one or the other? Most people seem consistent and predictable. I am erratic. What a pain.
I fall in love sometimes. Even though I am married. I imagine people would think I was immoral if they knew about this aspect of myself. My best friend knows this about me. I told her all about my attempts to make my love fantasies real. And how both of them failed miserably before anyone could even touch anybody. She doesn’t think I’m immoral. She thinks if I reacted that badly to hardly anything happening at all–how would I have reacted if real affairs had occurred?
I still think that my despair was caused by the rejections. That if I could have completed these relationships, I would have been fine. But of course the world will never know the answer to that debate either.
I suppose that I am the only one who should like me the best. I might still fall in love. And I still won’t have any interest in smoking pot. But I might stop over-thinking life. And then it might get good.