Spaced-Out

No, I’m not confused through the action of a narcotic drug.

I’m simply in my own space.

I’m spaced-in, not spaced-out.

Well I am both: In my own space and out of other people’s expectations.

Advertisement

Intruders

They pry
They poke
They enter
They come in
They get into
They break in
They trespass
They transgress
They offend
They infract
They violate

I don’t like these intrusions
I can’t stand these transgressions
I can’t take these violations

There is nothing here to learn
Except to protect myself
Against foreign invasions

The Introvert

Today is party day.  My wife invited a lot of people — family and friends.  I know what to expect, I went through this circus many times.  We will greet each other, sit, talk, drink, laugh, eat and then climax:  happy whatever!

The talk usually starts with a “how are you,” then revolves around whichever topic is mentioned.  The fun things we did are brought up, the interesting things we saw are emphasized.  Then anything goes:  hearsay, rumors, news from TV or from other members of the family or of famous people.  Who’s good, who’s bad.  Anything that pops up can become the subject of discussion.  Opinions are expressed.  Jokes are inserted.

Laughing is important to keep the mood happy.  When speaking, a touch of exaggeration is necessary to keep the listeners entertained.  Sometimes there is originality but most of the time opinions are second-hand ideas, the repeating of things heard elsewhere.  Finally a clever “expert” will make a concluding remark and the subject will change.

Fortunately, there is respect in our group.  No fighting.  There is a small chance of an argument between the mother-in-law and her daughter, but nothing serious.  Three languages are in use:  French, Portuguese and English.  It can get confusing because some of us understand and speak only one or two of those languages.  No one bothers translating.  You pick up what you can.  The discussions rarely amount to anything anyway, except maybe laughter.

I think most of the participants just enjoy the feeling of togetherness.  It doesn’t really matter what is said.  Compliments are always welcome.  Funny things are remembered.  Polite smiles are expected, fake ones for photos.

The bulk of the herd should arrive around 5 p.m. and leave at 9.  We will be crammed on the main floor of our medium-sized house.  I will have to endure a minimum of four hours of movement, noise and interaction requests.  I don’t know how to prepare for it except to write and express my apprehension of this upcoming inescapable situation.  I usually fare pretty well, though.  I take the role of the bartender, mixing drinks and serving the thirsty.

I’m more of a listener, and once in a while I will throw a sarcastic comment that will get a few of them rolling and the others frowning.  Two or three such interruptions is usually the most I can afford in one sitting.  I usually drink in order to help my mind relax, but I want to try not drinking at all this time.

I feel alienated in a crowd and never know where I fit in.  I try not to stay too long in the same spot.  I walk around, pretending I’m going somewhere, trying to stay cool.  It’s hard to engage in any sort of intelligent conversation because of the chaos and noise.  Everyone knows that I’m disabled, that I don’t go out much and that I’m a bit depressed, so they don’t bother asking me what I’ve been doing lately because it’s kind of useless.

My mother-in-law usually asks me “how are you,” I reply “fine” and that’s the end of our conversation.  What else can I say?  The truth is:  “I’m sad because your daughter ruined me financially,” but that would be a bad thing to say.  And the purpose of life is to be fucking good, right?  Or at least appear to be…

The clock is ticking.  I want this day to be over quickly.  I don’t get what others enjoy in these gatherings.  I understand though, because I once experienced the warmth of being with a group of friends in the past.  I’m not sure why I changed, though.  Maybe it’s just part of growing up.  Or maybe I lost my friends and I don’t know how to make new ones.  It’s a mystery.

I’m an introvert, I know this much, and that’s a good enough explanation, I guess…

Let’s Party

Another party?  Why?  What are we celebrating this time?

Why are you inviting so many people?  To be seen, heard and admired?  To laugh, eat, and drink?  To give and receive compliments?  To feel good?  To feel loved?  To feel secure?  To give purpose and meaning to your life?  To be happy?

Doesn’t your life have meaning and purpose already?  Don’t you feel secure, loved and good already?  Why do you need to hear compliments?  Is it because you feel worthless?  Why the need to drink so much?  Is it to feel uninhibited — because deep down you feel repressed, smothered and strangled?

Why so much food?  You can’t be that hungry — is it because you feel empty?  Why the need to joke and laugh so much?  Is it because you feel like crying?  Do all these friends around you make you feel better, acceptable perhaps?  Why do you feel unacceptable?  Did you do something unforgiveable?  Why do you need to be recognized, admired and praised?  Do you feel invisible, unimportant and ugly?

Is this party going to fix anything?  Maybe just temporarily…  Wouldn’t you like a more permanent solution to your problem?  Oh!  You don’t have a problem?  Sorry, miss Happy.  My mistake.  I must be crazy.

Okay then… let’s party.

Whatever

I don’t know what to write.  But I want to write because I’m bored.  I’m almost always bored, except when I write.  It’s a sure way out of boredom.  It works every time.  As long as I write.  Doesn’t really matter WHAT I write.  Nonsense is good enough.  It’s just sad for whoever is reading.  Expecting some well thought out blogpost.  This is not one of them.  It’s completely spontaneous.  Going nowhere.  I’m full of everything and nothing.  Don’t know what’s going to come out next.  Change paragraph.

This is a new paragraph.  My mother-in-law is coming.  My sister-in-law too, with her new baby.  I’m drinking wine.  Well not really, my glass is empty.  Refill, please!  I never ask my wife to serve me.  Never.  Never.  I never ask for anything for that matter, from anyone.  When I want something, I get it myself.  I have this saying:  “If you want to be well-served, then serve yourself.  There is no better service.”

We went to a wedding yesterday.  Afterwards, when we got home, my wife said that I was not antisocial.  I keep saying how antisocial I am, but when I find myself in a group, I am social.  Then why do I think that I am not social?  She said I was more sociable than she was yesterday.  It’s true, I was.  I have to figure out this mystery.

I guess it’s because I don’t get a kick out of it.  Social people get energized, excited and happy when they socialize.  I don’t.  It leaves me kind of blank.  It does nothing for me.  I can make people laugh or not laugh and it’s just the same to me.  My self-worth is not based on how other people perceive me.

So what is my self-worth based on?

A belief.

The Bad Antisocial Guy

I am planning on doing something terrible, unforgiveable, downright evil.

There is a huge family reunion taking place.  It starts in a few minutes.  It will last five days.  Only two hours drive from where I live.  My dear sisters have been planning this for over a year.  They reserved a 20-bedroom cottage mansion in the mountains.  They are all happy and excited to attend this great get-together.  Everyone is going, except me.

I will be the only one absent.  The black sheep of the family.  The depressed one.  The antisocial evil monster.  The selfish arrogant delusional smartass.  The one who claims to be connected to a higher consciousness but who can’t even interact properly with his own brothers and sisters.

I’ll probably be agonizing over this for the next 5 days.  I’m fighting a dragon that has seven heads.

I’m going to win this fight.  I know this dragon.  It has seven voices that attack my seven weaknesses:

• You don’t love your family
• You are selfish
• You think you are better than the others
• You have nothing better to do, you’re lazy
• You have no friends
• You’re a loser
• You’ll regret it

I can’t wait for it to be over.  The planning of this family reunion has been dragging on for 12 months.  That’s all they have been talking about.  I had to delete the reminder from my calendar.  Just seeing it would give me stomach cramps.  The thought of it would made me squirm in pain.  Imagine being stuck in a cottage with 50 of your closest loved ones, for 5 days.

I’ll try not to get too drunk this evening.  Writing it down helps.  Thanks for listening.

Daemon
the sick Demon