The Lives of Other Grown-Ups

November 19, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

It’s already been established in previous posts that I’m not very good at being a grown-up. I didn’t choose a conventional road through life. I’ve shirked many responsibilities that other people think I should have. I don’t have the typical, societal endorsed grown-up life.

So living this non-conventional life, I often wonder about the “normal” grown-ups I know and their lives.

For example, I know many people that work in various offices. They have cubes and they stare at spreadsheets all day and they complain about their coworkers and it’s all very normal and very adult. And I find myself hearing about their lives and wondering, is this what they wanted? Is this what they had in mind when the went to college? Is this their goal?

Of course, I don’t know and I don’t want to unintentionally offend anyone by asking. I don’t want to put down their job because it’s their life and so their job is important. And I’m not one to go around saying one job is more important than another. But I do wonder if this is what they always wanted to do.

I know that for some people, it isn’t. They took the jobs their in now because of other parts of their lives, other goals they wanted to achieve and the job they took was a way for them to do that. But some people, I wonder.

I wonder how some people can do it. I worked in an office and I didn’t care for it. I thought I’d like it and I didn’t. It wasn’t the people, it was just the job. It didn’t work with me. And the idea of being trapped in a job like that because I need to make money to pay the bills makes me break out in a cold sweat.

I wonder why it doesn’t have the same effect on them. Are they more mature than I am? Do they understand that common thread of normal life that I’ve somehow missed that working a drudge job is just part of the game? Or do they even see it as a drudge job? Is it something fulfilling to them? Does it fill something in them that I don’t have empty in myself and that’s why the idea of a grown up job gives me the hives?

I don’t know, but I regularly ask myself these thing.

I want to be a writer because it’s something I think I’m good at. It’s one of my few talents. It solves my problem of wanting to be so many things when I grow up by letting me bypass the actual time needed to be educated to do them and just writing about them instead. I get to live vicariously through my characters. I want to be my own boss. (Okay, that’s only sort of because I still have to answer to other folks like editors and such, but in general, I’m the one that figures out what I’m working on and what my timetable is for the most part.)

I’ve thought about abandoning that in favor of the “normal” life and being a grown-up, but I just can’t bring myself to go through with it.

I think I may be allergic.

But that doesn’t stop me from wondering about other grown-ups and their lives. No matter what, I hope they’re happy.

Bored Now

November 12, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

To a certain extent, I thrive on routine. My mental health appreciates it when I get up and go to sleep about the same time most days. I like having a pretty regular work schedule. There’s some comfort in knowing what I’m going to do the next day. I’m more productive when I have a good idea of what kind of time I’m going to have during the week.

In smaller ways, I like keeping a certain rhythm to particular times of my day. I watch the same succession of reruns in the afternoon. I take my shower at about the same time every morning. I go through the same basic routine in the shower every morning.

I like a certain amount of repetition. It’s comforting.

That said, I’m not immune to ruts. I’m in one right now, as a matter of fact.

Liking routine doesn’t mean I want to be doing the same things ALL the time. It means I like doing the same things most of the time. The rest of the time I like to do other things to break from the routine so I don’t resent the routine.

When I’m in a rut, I find I get very bored very easily. Usually, I don’t have time to get bored. I work seven days a week and when I’m not working, there’s usually something else I can think of that I want to do. Something fun. But I can’t think of fun right now. Fun costs money (most of the time) and I can’t afford to spend much of that right now. Fun usually involves other people, but the other people I know are either too far away or too busy doing other things.

And all of the potential fun sounds either boring or too much trouble. When I start to do something that should be fun and distracting and a change, within minutes a voice in my head is saying, “Bored now.”

Everything gets boring when I’m in a rut. I’m tired of looking at the clothes in my closet. I want new ones. Most of the clothes I have are easily over five years old, if not more. I haven’t had the money to get new clothes for a long time and I’m aching for a new wardrobe. New clothes would help me bust out of the rut.

It doesn’t take much to get me out of one. A little nudge, a little push, a little change. A little deviation from the routine. Like new clothes. I ordered a new cardigan the other night and you have no idea how excited I am to have this new article of clothing. It’s enough to make some of my clothing new again.

It’s a tiny step to breaking out of my current rut.

A new pair of jeans. Some new jewelry wire so I can try my hand at wire rings. A little bit of Christmas shopping. Playing cards at my aunt’s house. These are things I’m all looking forward to, things that have the potential to bust me totally out of my rut in the next few weeks. I’m in a rut, but it’s not that deep yet to require major moves. Yet.

If I let it go much longer, though…

Because though I might wear quite the groove in the ground with my routine, that doesn’t mean I want to live there.

Pessimistic Pete

November 5, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

When I was little, my mom used to call me Pistol Pete (no, I don’t know why; my family is random like that). Pessimistic Pete probably would have been a better nickname. At least a more accurate one.

Yes, I have a tendency towards pessimism. If you believe in astrology, then you can chalk up this trait up to being a Capricorn. If you don’t, then, I dunno, chalk it up to reinforcement or self-fulfilling prophecy if you believe in psychology.

I wouldn’t call myself overly pessimistic. Mostly I’m a realist and that makes me seem more pessimistic. That’s because I look at my past to help determine my realistic possibilities in the future and my track record isn’t that great. I hope for the best, expect the worst, and I’m delight if things turn out okay. That’s because rarely (so rarely that I can’t really remember any examples) do I get the best. I don’t usually even get the good. The bad is more likely and I know it’s more likely and because I know it’s more likely and that’s what I tend to expect, then I’m seen as quite the downer.

People have told me to think positively and you know, I do. Like I said, I hope for the best. In my head, I focus on the good, the positive and I try to project that energy. But there’s a part of me that knows no matter how hard I try to think positively, I do not attract positive energy. I just don’t.

I work at being less pessimistic. I try not to think of the worst FIRST. I focus on the good and the positive and then slowly let in reality until I get a decent, realistic expectation. I try to keep the overly negative thoughts out of the mix. But there are times when I’m prone to excessive pessimism. Sometimes I think EVERYTHING will end badly. Rocks fall, everyone dies.

It’s these times that I look at the state of things. I look at my mess of a life. I look at the financial hole I dug trying to pursue a career. I look at the decisions I’ve made and the risks I’ve taken with little or no support and/or not enough planning. I look at the physical ideals imposed upon women that I’ll never meet. I look at the responsibilities that I’ve taken on that never should have been foisted on me in the first place (and God forbid I should have refused them or else be labeled as selfish). I look at all of this stuff and more and I think “This is the life I’ve created. There is no hope here. There’s no point in being optimistic. This is it.”

I don’t like those times. I feel very alone during those times. I feel very tired during those times. And I feel very frustrated at those times because as tired and alone as I feel, as much as I want to say “fuck it” and drive on, just accept my reality and trudge through it until the end, I know I won’t. Because there’s something in me that won’t give up. There’s a little part of me that struggles and insists on looking on the bright side and striving FOR that bright side.

It’s annoying little bit of me, to be sure.

In the end, though, I’m glad it’s there. It puts the pessimism back in its cubby and insists that I get my head out of the self-pity oven and get on with it. There’s no time for this shit. I’ve got some living to do.

So, yes, I am pessimistic and have a tendency to be overly pessimistic sometimes, but I’m not nearly as pessimistic as you think I am. Because I fight not to be.

Aren’t you glad I haven’t surrendered?

The One and Only

October 29, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’ve grown quite accustomed to being just another face in the crowd. There’s part of me that really digs that kind of anonymity. I didn’t try for it; it just came naturally. There’s nothing particularly spectacular about me. I don’t stand out (since I stopped coloring my hair like I belonged in a package of Skittles). I’m not very memorable. In fact, most people don’t even remember or know my name. Around my little town I’m most easily identified as “Haws’s daughter” or “Lindsay’s sister” (the exception being Wal-Mart, where I’m a rock star, but that’s a different blog post).

So it’s really weird for me to think that I’m the only person in the country with my name.

According to How Many of Me, I’m it. Based on their math and taking into account the spelling of my first name and the spelling of my last name, one person or less has my name. As a fat girl, I certainly don’t qualify as less, so I must be the ONE.

What’s funny about this is that it wasn’t what my mother was striving for when she named me. Yes, she didn’t take popularity into account in the sense that she didn’t want me to have the same name as six other girls in my class (sorry, Jennifers). Christin was actually not her first choice; Carrie was. But when her roommate in the hospital named her baby Carrie, Mom went with the Christin. And the spelling wasn’t intentionally unique. Mom just thought that’s how it was supposed to be spelled…Chris-tin. Way to go, Hooked on Phonics. But my mom wasn’t the only one. Over 11,000 people have their name spelled the same way. I’ve met four of them.

And my last name, well…it is what it is. There’s only about 4,000 people with this last name with this spelling in the country, according to the website. I can’t help that.

But it’s the combination of the two is that really puts my name in the unique category. I am it.

WordPress stats are handy because they tell me what searches people do to find my blog. People get here a lot of ways, some of them very strange. But nothing grabs my attention quite like my name popping up in the search terms.

When you Google my name, first it will ask if you meant someone else (Christian or Christine Haws is usually pretty popular). Then the first five entries will be all about me. My Twitter, my blog, an old website, a blog guest post, my Smashwords page. Then the other names start to filter in.

Here’s the thing. If I’m the only one with my name and the people doing the searching spelled everything right, then that means people who come to my blog searching my name are looking for ME. When you go through life largely ignored, it’s bizarre to think someone Googled you.

Sometimes I think it’s a little creepy, but then I’m also prone to paranoia.

Granted, I imagine most of those hits are people who know me who can’t remember my blog name or haven’t bookmarked it or aren’t following it (that’s right, you feel shame about not bookmarking me). But odds are at least one of those searches was done by a stranger.

It’s a concept that’s kind of difficult for me to grasp.

But then, I’m strange like that.

It comes with being the one and only me.

A Word About My Politics

October 22, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I typically don’t talk politics. I find the conversations become unpleasant and anything but enlightening. Truly I think they bring out the stupid and make me change my opinions about people too frequently.

That all being said, I think I should explain a little bit of my political position so at the very least I have something people have a basic understanding of where I stand.

First of all I identify as an independent since I have no desire to belong to any party. I like the sound of it. In-dee-pen-dent. Free. I’m not bound by the rules of a party. No party lines to follow. I don’t suffer any second hand candidate embarrassment. I’m not compelled to vote for a particular candidate just because they’re on my “team” (a huge fallacy we’ve got going on with voters here; they’ve got government confused with sports). I’ve voted for Democrats and Republicans and Independents and Green Party members. All on the same ballot once. It was glorious. I vote for whoever I want to and for my own reasons. I have a nice, objective view of the races. I like it.

Second of all if anyone asks, I say I’m a moderate. I ride that line. I admit to being more conservative on some issues and more liberal on others, but overall, I’m in the middle. People can get pretty aggravated about that, demanding I pick a side. Sorry, scooter. I found me a really comfortable dip in this fence and that’s where I’m sitting.

Lastly, this isn’t a challenge. I have no desire to convert you to my way of thinking and I’d appreciate the same respect. I’m also not spouting this off to somehow say how much better I am than you because of my politics. Aside from the fact that you don’t really KNOW any of my political beliefs since I haven’t actually articulated much past generalities and labels, my politics are a small part of who I am. And by stating these basic facts about myself I’m not by any means calling you out. This is just for general knowledge purposes.

I’ve found that general knowledge helps prevent unfortunate assumptions. Even the bare basics helps.

Politics fall into the category of my personal beliefs. I don’t feel the need to bray about them and I don’t think that braying about them makes them anymore real. If I’m not in the market to change minds (when it comes to politics, I prefer to point out logic train derailments), then there’s no need for me to be spitting into the wind. I’m not compelled to add to the noise, particularly during this extra loud presidential campaign.

However, if you ask, I’ll probably answer. And if you’re an ass about how and what I answer, then your questioning privileges will be revoked. Probably rudely.

Remember, I’m not bound by niceties either.

Bi Bi, Baby, Bi Bi

October 15, 2012September 15, 2021 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I’m bisexual.

I’ll allow you all a minute to process what that means to you before I get into what it ACTUALLY means.

Being bisexual means that I am sexually and romantically attracted to men and women. I was once challenged in high school that I couldn’t be bisexual because I’d never slept with a woman. If that were how it works, then I couldn’t have been a heterosexual at the time because I’d never had sex with a man at that point either. But that’s not how it works.

Being bisexual brings up some interesting stereotypes.

One is that I don’t exist. People who claim to be bisexual are just confused. In a society so obsessed with labels and the concept of either/or, all or nothing, bisexuality is a mind-boggle. I have to be attracted to either men or women. I can’t be attracted to both. And in this world, adherence to convention would be preferred. But if I were a lesbian that would be okay because at least then I would make a COMMITMENT to a choice. For some reason the idea that I could be attracted to both sexes is considered impossible.

Speaking of commitment, therein lies another stereotype. That because I’m bisexual (if you believe in that sort of thing), I can’t be in a committed relationship. I am somehow unsatisfied if I were to pick one partner because I’d always be yearning for the opposite. The problem with this idea is that it has nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with monogamy. I know some perfectly straight people and some perfectly gay people who couldn’t be in a committed relationship if you tied them to someone. I’ve personally gotten to the age and experience that commitment to ONE person is my ideal.

You may be wondering why I’ve never brought up my sexuality before. I’ve talked about my dealings with men before, but not women.

Well, first of all, it’s none of your damn business and I’ll mete out information about myself as I see fit. Second of all, my dealings with women have been fewer, but no less confusing, awkward, and difficult than my go-rounds with men. While I’m more trusting of a woman flirting with me than I am a man (in other words, if I realize they’re hitting on me, I don’t automatically chalk it up to them looking for an easy score, they’re joking, or it’s because I’m the only single girl in the room), I’m as clueless as a man when dealing with them in relationships. I’ve also been witness to a few sour women break-ups. That alone has been enough to make me tread extra carefully.

Lastly, I’m not exactly in the closet, but I’m not sure everyone knows. In fact, when I did let my parents in on the fact that I was bisexual, they were actually both shocked that I wasn’t a lesbian. So there ya go. But still, there are certain friends and family members that might not be too thrilled with my sexuality.

Which raises another fun point.

If I date a man, I’m okay. If I date a woman, I’m a lesser human being. Isn’t that strange? Nothing else about me changes. Not my personality, not my weight, not my eye color, not my job. Just my relationship. And that one little thing determines if I can go about life peacefully or if I get people coming up to me in the mall to tell me I’m an abomination (it’s happened!).

Think about that, kids. How would you like the value of your existence, whether or not you’re entitled to the same benefits as everyone else, whether or not your family LOVES you, whether or not your friends will associate with you dependent upon who you’re fucking? Nothing else about you changes. Everything about you is the same. But making that one relationship choice, dating that one person, changes everything about how people feel about your and treat you. Just that one little thing.

Amazingly fucked up, isn’t it? Not very fair, huh?

Welcome to my world.

Fat Telling

October 8, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

So a viewer emailed a news anchor in LaCrosse, WI to let her know that she was fat and as a someone on TV it was her responsibility to not be fat in order to set an example to the young people.

That’s my snarky summary. You can read the whole thing (and see video) here.

The whole incident brought up the topic of bullying, but that’s not why I’m bringing it up. That topic is best left discussed by people who are not me.

I’m bringing it up because this is actually a common occurrence for fat people. You don’t even have to be on TV to have it happen. For whatever reason, people feel it is not only acceptable but also their DUTY to tell fat people that they are fat.

I’m not talking about the assholes that scream “FAT ASS!” across crowded malls and streets. I’m talking about the people like this gentleman who sent in the email. There’s nothing overtly offensive in his email. He just felt that perhaps this news anchor COMPLETELY MISSED THAT SHE’S OVERWEIGHT AND SOMEONE SHOULD POINT IT OUT TO HER. She addresses that in fact.

You might think it’s stupid (and you’d be right), but there are people out there that think I don’t know I’m fat unless they point it out to me. Seriously. They think I might have been trucking right along in my life thinking I was normal or average or worth a shit and it totally escaped my attention that I was FAT. And if that person didn’t tell me, I’d just continue living my life in some sort of oblivion.

Well, allow me to put a lot of minds at ease. Fat people know they’re fat. And there’s also a good chance that fat people understand the health implications of being fat, the HUGE societal implications of being fat, and every diet in existence. You don’t have to tell us. We know.

But see, that’s not REALLY what it’s about. It’s not that fat people live in some sort of ignorance that they don’t realize they’re fat. It’s that people think that if they don’t remind fat people that it’s WRONG to be fat, we might forget and continue being fat.

That’s what this guy was doing when he emailed the news anchor. He was reminding her that it’s wrong to be fat and because she’s on TV it’s EXTRA wrong because she’s now displaying her fatness to more people. And somehow, because she hasn’t changed her fatness, it’s poisoning the minds of the young girls by letting them know it’s OKAY to be fat and, as society is quick to point out, BEING FAT IS WRONG.

Thin people might have to deal with strangers telling them to “eat a sandwich”, but it’s not implied that their existence is in violation of the Universe. Mine is.

I don’t need you to tell me I’m fat. I know. And I’m not going to change just so you’ll feel more comfortable. Changing my appearance might make me visually less offensive to the rest of society, but I’m afraid my personality will remain just as revolting and vile to you. I could lose 150 pounds, but I’d still be a “fat bitch”. Like the lovely news anchor said, there’s more to me than a number on the scale.

I know I’m fat. Do you know you’re an asshole? Tell me I’m fat and I’ll return the favor.

Memories of Apple and Pork

October 1, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I went to the 44th annual Apple and Pork Festival on Saturday. I went alone and when I go to the Festival alone, it’s a very business-like trip. I don’t bother looking around much. I walk uptown to the Square, take the tram to the Homestead, follow the flow through the covered bridge to the flea market, head to the last row and walk up to the last stall on the left, buy a ring from the same lady that’s always there, walk back through the gauntlet of browsers and strollers and people that think stopping in the middle of the flow to chat or gawk is acceptable, back through the covered bridge, up to the place that sells ham sandwiches so I can get an apple doughnut, then off the grounds and across the street to grab a lemon shake-up before I catch the tram back to the Square and walk home.

Straight business.

Now, if go with someone, there’s a lot more walking. Walking from the house to the Square. From the Square to the Save-A-Lot parking lot and the old Junior High grounds. From there to the Homestead (five or six blocks), checking out the booths set up in yards along the way. Then at the grounds, the flea market is taken row by row and all of the buildings gone through. The we walk home on the opposite side of the street to catch all of the booths we missed on the walk up.

But when I go alone, it’s all business.

I think it’s because I don’t like to dwell around up there when I’m alone. Because I’m not really alone. I’ve got a lot of memories there.

My grandma loved going to the Apple and Pork Festival. It was a thing every year. Before there was a tram, before there was a bus, my grandparents would drive up to our house and then we’d walk up to the festival together. Back then there wasn’t much on the Square. It didn’t really start until the Junior High (which still existed). Sometimes Mom would go with us, sometimes Aunt Jo would be in town. Sometimes it was just my grandparents and my sister and me. Dad was almost always working the event.

We’d walk up together and the walk would take forever. When you’re a kind those kinds of walks were long anyway, but the constant stopping because Grandma wanted to look at something made it longer.

Same with the flea market and such at the Homestead. When you’re a kid, these things hardly hold much in the way of appeal. We’d get our face painted and look at shiny things, but to us the Apple and Pork was boring because there were no rides like the county fair. Papa was usually good for one toy if we were good. Foam lizards on leashes were always popular when I was a kid, but I remember one year I got a blow up crayon and another a blow up shark.

I can remember being so tired by the end of the Homestead walk around that walking home was utter torture.

I think about those things every year that I go.

And every year I go, as I’m getting ready to make my walk up to the Square, alone or not, I feel like I’m waiting on my grandma. I keep expecting the car to pull in the driveway and Grandma and Papa to walk in the house, both of them wearing their good clothes, Grandma decorated with her jewelry (most of which was bought at flea markets and auctions), her glasses perched on top of her head. I expect to be kept waiting ten or fifteen minutes during the small talk before we start our walk up there.

My grandma has been dead for eight years now. It was probably several years before she died that I last went to an Apple and Pork with her and Papa (once I started working, I rarely got a weekend off to go). It’s a silly thing to expect that after all of these years, but I do. I guess it’s just an ingrained expectation, like the ring and the apple doughnut and the lemon shake-up. Going with Grandma and Papa is all part of the Festival for me, even if they’re both gone now.

So, when I go alone, it’s all business. Grandma’s not around anymore. I don’t feel like looking.

Freelancing Through Life

September 24, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

There’s been a lot of talk of jobs in my little part of the world lately and I was trying to think of how to explain my current job situation.

I say I’ve got three jobs right now. I teach basic Spanish to my homeschooled nieces three days a week. I get the neighbor boy up and ready and take him to school two/three days a week. And I work floorset a couple times a month at a clothing store at the mall.

However, if you count writing (which, in my head, I always do because it’s my constant, full-time job even if to doesn’t pay for shit most of the time), I’ve got four. And if you count jewelry making, I’ve got five. And if you count…

Of course, there are people that look at that and say I only have one job because I only work for one “real” employer. The rest is just garbage, under the table work that doesn’t count. Which is fine, but I respectfully disagree because I think anything I do to make money is a job.

But it’s getting rather crowded trying to explain my jobs.

So I’ve decided to just to say I’m a writer freelancing through life. And if anyone presses, I can fill them in on the jobs that I’m working on at that time. Since not many people would ask for clarification, it would save so much time.

What does that mean exactly?

I’m a writer. First and foremost. But I’m not in the position to support myself solely through writing (yet), so I have to have a day job. But since I technically have three day jobs right now, two of which are subject to change at any given moment (meaning the second my services are no longer required, I get the boot), and I’ve been making and selling jewelry and doing various other things to earn money to pay my bills, well, let’s face it…I’m a freelancer. A freelance writer takes on assignments and jobs. Well, that’s pretty much what I’m doing, just not with writing. I’m using my other skills to take on jobs.

I’d call it prostitution, but I feel like that would project the wrong image and get too many hopes up.

In the end, it doesn’t change the mind of the people that think I’m lazy and worthless because I don’t have a “real” job, but it does make it easier for me to explain how I make a living.

I’ll stop short of putting it on a business card, though. Writer will do just fine for that.

“I’m judging you all. Harshly.”

September 17, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I posted that on my Facebook the other day. This was after just about everyone had to run their mouths about the sad events in Libya. And it was true. I was judging everyone harshly. And I posted it because it was just easier to get right to the point rather than try to construct a witty few sentences that inoffensively said the same thing. I didn’t want that point to be missed.

I am judging you all harshly. I do it every day. I judge your decisions. I judge your morals. I judge your actions. I judge your words. I judge your clothing choices. I judge everything about you. Harshly.

Now, here’s the twist.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they tend to think about it terms of good and bad. People are judging you to be good or bad. You’re a good person or a bad person. You’re a success or a failure. You’re right or wrong.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they also tend to judge in relation to themselves. Is this person better or worse than me?

When I judge people…I just judge people.

I don’t think much in terms of good or bad. Are you someone I want to know or not? That’s basically what it boils down to. I’ve known some totally worthless people in my time. Drunk. Never had a pot to piss in. Constantly fucking up in life. But I liked them. They were funny, caring, interesting people. I wouldn’t ask them to do anything for me, wouldn’t trust them to take a dollar and not spend it on booze, but they were all right.

And then there are those with the spit and polished life of perfection that have the successful career and the college education and the spouse and the children and the church commitments and the everything and I wouldn’t want to spend one minute with them.

No one is exempt from this. I judge EVERYONE. Constantly. Harshly. Family, friends, former classmates, Twitter followers, strangers, whatever. Everybody gets run through the judgmental filter in my brain. Repeatedly.

For me, this constant judgement keeps me conscious of who people are. It’s more of an objective thing in the sense that my opinion of a person only changes in the sense of “do I want to be around this person” rather than “this is a good/bad person”. I can’t judge that. I’m a horrible person when you boil it all down. Far be it from me to make that call.

But I can make the call on how much you get on my nerves. How pleasant do I find you right now? What are you saying? What are you doing? How are you affecting me whether you know it or not?

That’s really why I’m so judgmental. I’m selfish. We’ve already established that in previous blog posts. It’s all about me. How are you affecting me? How is your behavior and your words affecting me? I don’t care what anyone else thinks of you. It’s all about me.

There was a guy I went to school with that everyone liked. He was funny, a good Christian, nice guy, all around good person. Except he didn’t like cats. He didn’t just not like cats. He HATED cats. He once wished that a cat would get killed on the freeway.

He recently passed away very unexpectedly. Many people were eulogizing him on Facebook, talking about what a great guy he was and while I paid my respects as is proper, I don’t think he was that great of a guy. He wished death on an animal because he didn’t like it. That speaks so loudly to me it practically screams. I can’t think of someone as a “good person” when they do stuff like that.

I judged him harshly. I’m still judging him harshly and he’s dead. Anytime someone brings him up all I can think is, “but he once wished death on a cat”.

I’m sure there are going to be a few of my classmates that read this post and take exception to this and no doubt want to tell me that I’m a horrible person. And that’s fine. That’s been established. But, I would like to point out that at no point did I say that I’m happy he’s dead. I’m not. I reserve that sort of thing for a very select group of people and he was most definitely not in that group. What I am saying is that one comment from him, whether he meant it or not (and if he didn’t mean it that doesn’t make him look any better in my eyes), influenced how I judged him from that point on.

That’s just one example. This has happened dozens of times with dozens of people. I judge you on your past and your present. I judge and I judge and I judge.

In fact, I’m judging you right now.

Harshly.