So, every now and again, people tell me, yell at me, call me weird, up tight, lose, a bad person, blunt, unhinged, cruel or that I do not understand pain, or those other boomerang emotions… you just keep throwing at me and they just keep on coming right back. What is with that? I have a wheel of them, currently one is made into an origami shape, much more useful arrangement of anger, sadness or grief etc.. Erk. Stuff all of those into a transparent bottle and just.. well.. aww.. I dont know what. I don’t Have a magic marker that will magically erase all of your discomfort when whoever approaches with their apparent agony. I am about as competent at that as fixing an earache. I would happily affix cotton wool buds to your entire body if it meant the cease fire the screwing up your face in that strange manner and then opening your mouth, you make me feel…. all.. shifty.. and search for more pockets when I know I have only a few on my person. And then usually, you respond with something that is esoteric.. because apparently I react in entirely the wrong way to people telling me about their lives and the problems, troubles and hurt they encounter. Did I signpost my person with Please douse me with all of your issues. I really wish to inflict the suffering your first world issues into my cranium.. No.My brain may be vapid. Sometimes I really truly do want to help you, I may even find you interesting or entertaining provided your brain doesn’t resemble the consistency of raspberry jam.. But I fail. here’s the thing. I get pain, it’s like this I’m entirely not sure how to put this, a.. knife’s edge, Ha, a pun. I really understand your pain. It’s labor intensive and intrusive to listen at times, especially if I don’t fucking like you. So, this is where I employ a truth gun. Truth hurts. So, I guess sometimes it is better to have thick skin.
You’re pain, I want to lessen it. However, I want to make you feel better. Any way I can. It’s reflective to those animals that I forgot flush out that burn off.. animals. Burn. And scream and turn around and run back into the fire.
And something else I can’t fix you, your body or mind, like a machine, whether you are well oiled or it’s fault finding in your beliefs. Your depression of your abusive family or the death of your goldfish or cat or that your boyfriend left you or your fat or thin, weight-troubles. Eat less or more. eh. I can’t do much about that, and what little I can do, other people can probably extend their skills and perform at a higher degree, to do better. There is skill in hugging in a comforting manner, In attentive listening. Objectively that is. It’s what is, and what isn’t. It may as well be guess who or.. a game of twister with vocal chords and ears.. to me, to you, watch you tear yourself apart, I am ubiquitous, terrible at trying to keep up with the art of the changing times, the extremely quick and apparently random ways, emotions that make you change and your expressed opinions. How. do. You. Do it? And more so why? No wonder some people sleep contently at night.
So, this is the reason I will try for a moment, or simply I point you at someone else for those things. They have reached their Diploma in being Human, there is no flux. And I fix what I can fix. Or throw paint at canvas. Simple stuff really. Sorry that I ask too many questions. You have exceptions, lower them perhaps?Think bigger?. Somethings I find interesting.
There’s something I can do about you being messy, inaccurate, hungry or having a headache, if you’re shoe unlaces itself or if your nose suddenly bursts a capillary, I can by chance stem that bleeding if it’s a good day. If you lose a button from the cuff of a shirt a replacement is possible. I can buy you chocolate happy chemicals in your brain, create a catapult- fling pigments of paint in any surface you desire, currently developing the trajectory for coloring planes. Clean , read, read, do not come near me when you are ill.. procedures follow. I don’t have the energy for sickness. or. Arh. no.
The fact that I try and offer a solution to minor problems you come to me with doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the major ones. For instance, death. And life. You are able to die if you will it. Choice.
It’s just that I can’t do shit about those. And I’d rather do something to make you feel better and to make your life easier than hug you in an extremely awkward way and then proceed to tell you a lie that both you and I know is so far away from true that they might not even be able of existing in the same universe.
I do what I can to make you feel better. Often its wrong. And if It’s over the phone you will hang up or ask what the fuck is wrong with me. And I’ll reply I’m fine and be left with the all too familiar tone of a reversing truck. It’s what I’m good at doing. Messing up, falling down, hurting myself. Evading social situations. At the present ordering 30 books over the Internet and not knowing it. Brain misdirection.
Seeing that on average, most people around you are good at the being ridiculously brilliant at being human type things I’m bad at doing when it comes to make you feel better, I think that’s the most useful thing I can do. So, if there is a war. And between friends, I’m thinking this is why I also fail at seeing why I should apologize sometimes, when I know I perpetually screw up, but.
A better person would be rather warranted. Somehow I manage to play the protagonist.