I fail to use my journal in any constructive manor and never use it to vent my frustrations with the people around me. That's the trouble with a journal that is in full view of the people who are deeply embedded in your life. One such entity had been with me for two years before our mutual frustration levels rose to a final crescendo.
I try to be low drama. I seriously go out of my way to avoid a fight or, at least, bringing a fight out into public view. As wise as this may sound, it burns me more frequently than anything else. My aversion to drama only brings to me more drama, up to the point that I end up losing many friends instead of just one. Not entirely fair but if I'm not willing to play the game, then I am destined to lose.
Fortunately, the entity in question no longer reads my journal, and I see that her friends are no longer lurking.
I harbor a bitterness toward this entity because of the words she chose when she finally decided to illuminate a mystery that plagued us all of our relationship:
|You know why I sometimes take my friends advice and not yours? Because they give it an let me make my own farking choice about what I do with that info, they don't stand there over my shoulder and call me stupid if I try things my own way first.|
Wow, I sound awful! What a flaming bastard!
I'll admit, I am a head case. I spend most of my life deeply entrenched on whatever problem has passed through my frontal lobe. This leaves me full of trivial knowledge or inane comprehensions that beg for application. I don't use drugs because I will recede into the folds of my chewy center, paralyzing me from my medulla oblongata, down.
I don't begin to suggest that my knowledge is the end-all-be-all. There are an infinite number of subjects I haven't begun to explore, and the ones I consider my forte want for more. That is why I recede so easily, to sate this want.
That said, I am well versed in a number of things. That's not saying much because, after all, anyone who does anything for 2 years or more should have the requisite competency to be considered an authority.
I've done lots of things for more than 2 years.
Still, I know what I know and I know what I don't. If I am not an authority, I admit it and, then, go find one.
It's not an issue of pride, it's an addiction to knowledge. Trafficking doses and getting fixes. Investing freely in the brains of others so, one day, I might reap the fruit of these minds.
When someone has a problem, and I know the answer, I give them my knowledge almost freely. I do expect something in return. I desire the possibility that my knowledge, advice, factoid, thought, or memory may have been helpful. How does one deliver this feedback? "Ok, I'll consider it."
The offending entity never uttered these words. Instead, she challenged my every thought. It became a battle to succinctly deliver the entirety of my knowledge on each subject to support the most mundane claim. Should this scrutiny be applied to every passing comment?
Instead of sharing knowledge with said entity, I turned off my mind and I posed, flexed my kewtness, flaunted my cheesiness, and leveraged any adoration I could get from her. I felt like a trophy bitch. Every once in a while, she allowed me to engage my brain to impress her friends or family, but privately, my brain was left to consider its situation in silence.
I can't be kept silent forever. I couldn't bite my tongue hard enough to not address GLARING problems, provide simple solutions well within the confines my expertise.
With the decrease in the frequency of my suggestions, the amplitude of my passion increased.
That she admitted that she ignored my advice, even if correct, just because I treat knowledge with passion, that's the biggest insult one could give the fro.
I finally called her a twit.
In the LAST email I ever sent her, that word burned with fire. It was the first time I ever out right called her stupid or suggested she was such. Sure, I had told her countless times before that she was wrong (when she was wrong) but we are all wrong with frequency. "A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing" -- George Bernard Shaw. Being wrong is a good thing, as long as one eventually learns what's right. The process of learning often starts with being wrong.
|It's pride because in every instance, you can't just allow people to think about the advice you have given, or your point of view, you have to be right, and you have to be right, RIGHT NOW. Did it ever occur to you that maybe if you gave me advice and let me think about it, try a few things on my own, that eventually I would come to see it your way?|
|That's where the idea of "Ok, I'll consider it" comes in to play. You hated that idea.|