The Truth

Yep, post inspired via Chelsea, and in turn via this post.

What’s the truth for you?

That’s one tall order, miss Chelsea.

So here goes nothing.  Caveat lector.

I am always busy with some kind of project because I do not know how to say “no”, and end up over-promising things to people.  Sure, I may get it done, but I put these obligations on myself when I know I should be focusing on myself more.

I don’t care a lot of the time.  This is not necessarily apathy to issues, I just deal with drama quite well because I don’t treat it like it’s a big deal.  Because in the grand scheme of things, it never is.  I think this may be my secret to my optimism.

I’m actually fine in conversation, and not as awkward as I lead myself to think.

I fucking hate people and the idea of dealing with them.  And for some reason, this completely goes away when I eventually do interact with them.

I am actually in a good position to start a relationship, but I will not let myself do this because I have not bothered to find someone I would like to spend a lot of time with, nor do I like anyone enough to make an effort to spend that much time with them.  Moreover, nobody has really impressed me lately.

I fall asleep if I have not figured out something to preoccupy me.

My parents and I are not close.  There is a lot about them I do not know.  I never bother to ask.  And as much as I love them, I do not feel it necessary to ask.

I miss my grandmothers.  I should visit their gravesites.  I think about them whenever I see orchids.

I can’t cry.  I haven’t done this in a long time and I’m beginning to think the desire to become unfeeling has become a reality.  There have been occasions where I have tried to cry about something I should have cried about, to reassure my humanity, and I haven’t been able to do it.  I like to tout myself as a robot as a joke but I fear this may have come true.

I have very little opinion on things.  I always take a vague and non-committal position in arguments, playing devil’s advocate for both sides.  This is because I do not care deeply enough to take sides.  As there are only a few select issues on which I take stance, I come off as unsympathetic, removed, and dispassionate.  And a lot of the time, that is how I feel.

I am a wonderful liar.  If I dislike you, you may not know it.  Only my friends know my tell-tale signs of faking interest and being nice to your face.  I grew up with the motto, “if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  But I am loaded with nice things to say.  The easiest method to know if I don’t care for you is if you can’t make me laugh or make me ask questions.  It’s very easy to amuse me and make me laugh.  If I’m not doing that, or not asking further questions, I don’t really care for the conversation.  But I don’t see the point in making someone uncomfortable if I have an amazingly high bullshit tolerance.

If I hate you, you would not know it either.  You would just never hear from me.  I am easy to track down, but difficult to keep in your life.

I hate being touched.  I have to have invested an amazing amount of trust in you if I let you get close.  And even then, I’m still expecting you to stab me in the back.

Making music is the only thing that truly makes me profoundly happy, and everything else is biding time.

I hate that people don’t know the difference between talking philosophy and pontification.  Talking large ideas is fine, but it’s not philosophy unless you can identify schools of thought.  Plato?  Aristotle?  Kant?  Descartes? Kierkegaard? Hume? Wittgenstein? If you can’t nail down the schools of thought that people have defined for you, you aren’t talking about philosophy.  And moreover, “your personal philosophy” probably already has a name, you just haven’t bothered to find out what it is.  There are very few new ideas.

I love to play dumb because letting you think you are smarter than I am puts me in a very opportune position.  It also makes you trust me.

Deep down, I know that I am good.  People that understand me deeply know that at my core, I have the best intentions.  But on top of that goodness are layers of evil that only manifest when I want or need them to come out.  I am good, wrapped in evil, wrapped in good, covered in powdered sugar.  I am an arsenic crêpe.  I am a cyanide cupcake.

And frankly, being a good person who has the capacity for evil is more dangerous than someone who is outwardly an asshole.

And truthfully, the truth about myself frightens me.