Tag: Megalomania

It’s Not Easy Socializing with a Brain Like Mine

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Lately, I’ve been flirting with the idea of being more social. It’s a challenge for my introverted self. It takes energy that I don’t always have or want to expend. I’ve neglected that part of my life for too long and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to leave my house more. It doesn’t have to be anything much. Once a month, go out with a friend, maybe for lunch or dinner or something. Socialize with someone outside of my house and the library. I need to make more of an effort to connect with the friends I have in my meatspace and this would be an easy, low pressure way to do that.

Right?

Well, my brain hasn’t met a good idea that it couldn’t turn bad. Or at least make seem impossible. Anxiety is fun like that.

The friends that currently occupy my immediate physical reality took a different path in life than I did. They got married, had kids, have full-time jobs in which they’ve been employed for years. You know. They all became functioning adults. Meanwhile, I’m over here avoiding adulthood like I’m dodging bullets in the Matrix. My point is that their lives are already very full. They’ve got a lot going on. Better things to do, as it were. My brain gleefully informs me that I do not need to be bothering these friends. They put effort into their lives. They’ve got their social circles. There’s no room for you anymore.

I do have some friends that didn’t entirely go the full-tilt adult route, didn’t get married and/or have kids. They would theoretically have more available time in their life to spend an hour eating food, drinking drinks, and talking about things and stuff with me. However, I still can’t find a way to justify that I’m not bothering them by asking them to hang out with me for a short while. I can’t imagine it being anything other than an inconvenience to them for me to ask, especially if they have to make an excuse because they don’t want to go.

My brain enjoys telling me that everybody hates me and I should go eat worms.

My brain also enjoys projection. My first reaction to someone asking me to socialize is usually a reflexive “no”. It’s too much work to get in the right brain space, I’ll be too anxious. Even if my immediate reaction is a “yes” or a “maybe”, I more than likely won’t feel the same way when the time comes to leave the house. Most often, if I commit to an outing, I will follow through because I know I’ll be fine (or close enough to fine) when I get there. It takes an incredible amount of mental gymnastics sometimes just to convince myself to go out. Why wouldn’t other people go through the same thing when I ask them?

Well, maybe because they have normal, more reasonable brains.

I’m not giving up on this idea that I can have a small social life. After all, I used to have one. It’s just a matter of ignoring the worst of my brain and sending that first text message.

It’ll be fine when I get there.

I’m Reacquainting Myself with the Sun

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Since it’s almost the end of meteorological summer, I think I should talk about something I started doing at the beginning of it.

I’ve never had the best relationship with the sun. Probably because I’m pale and that fiery orb finds it offensive.

My parents and my sister all tan. My mother was a professional tanner in our youth, laying out in the backyard, listening to Cubs games on the radio in the summer and keeping regular tanning bed appointments in the other seasons. My father sported a lop-sided farmer’s tan from driving around on patrol for twelve hours a day with his left arm hanging out the window, the skin that arm getting darker than on the right, dark enough to make my mother jealous. My sister is the kind of person who might get a sunburn and it might last for a day or two, but it would eventually fade into a tan. And once she tanned, well, the chances of her getting another sunburn that summer plummeted.

Me? I go from white to red to white with no other stops on the color wheel. And I didn’t just sunburn as a kid. I burnt. It took no time for me to go from a little pink to deep red to blistered. Growing up, my mom would apply the sunscreen, but it was in the reapplications (infrequent and ill-timed) that I would end up toast. My sunscreen skills didn’t really improve as I got older either. It was a hassle. So, instead of exposing myself to the sun, I gradually retreated from it.

The results were predictable. Sure, I haven’t had a sunburn in years, but I’ve also achieved a paleness not even seen on a sickly Victorian child, which at one point was exacerbated by a bout of anemia. It’s not a pristine, delicate paleness, either. I didn’t get out of those childhood sunburns without a few battle scars. A whole lot of them actually. I’m covered in freckles. It’s the only melanin I have.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to get more sun. However, those attempts were often thwarted by my own laziness and hang-ups. I told myself that I couldn’t go outside on the days I worked because I had to work. I could go outside after work on Saturdays, but I’d sit in the very shaded backyard and not get much sun exposure. I could lay out all day on Friday or Sunday if I wanted to, but it seemed like I could never get out of the house early enough to catch the good sun. It was halfhearted and hopeless.

Then, this past spring, I revamped my morning routine and suddenly everything became possible.

I had noticed that when I took my laptop out in the backyard to write on occasional Saturdays after work or sometimes on my Fridays off, I seemed to be more productive. Why couldn’t I do that every day? I have a perfectly good patio table on a perfectly serviceable patio. I could sit at the table in the mornings, drink my coffee, write, AND get the sun I felt myself craving. Could it be that easy?

Friends, it has been that easy.

Not only do I write more and write it easier when I’m outside soaking up the sun, but I’ve also been getting on better terms with that harsh god. Our relationship has definitely improved with reasonable boundaries. I’m liberal with the sunscreen before going outside, I’m only sitting out there for about 30-45 minutes, and I’m not out there every day. I’m either actively taking a break from the sun or it’s too hot for me to realistically sit outside in direct sunlight in a black chair at a black table. I can only tolerate so much direct exposure and boob sweat.

Spending time outside this summer -as structured yet irregular as it has been thanks to heat waves- has boosted my mood, my creativity, and I’m a healthy shade of pale. In fact, I’m enjoying my mornings of sun, coffee, and writing so much that I don’t plan to give them up so easily come autumn. Or winter, for that matter. I live in the Midwest. Random warm winter days won’t go wasted.

After all, if I’m going to keep this relationship between me and the sun healthy, I’m going to have to work at it.

I Got a Bright Idea

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been pondering the notion of self-publishing chapbooks or collections of my poetry. It would be easy to do since I already have plenty of experience self-publishing novels and novellas and short story collections. I know how to put a book together and I’ve made plenty of my own covers. I could do a print and an ebook version. No problem. Yeah, I’d have to do some research on the the difference between a poetry chapbook and a poetry collection and which would be the one to do. And, yeah, my poetry isn’t great and not really worthy of either of those incarnations. But that doesn’t matter. It’s a bright idea.

That’s the thing about me. I get a lot of bright ideas. Ideas that would probably be brilliant if they were executed by others. Ideas that fall significantly short of expectations because they are executed by me. It turns out that I am the lethal injection of bright ideas.

The problem with me and my bright ideas is two-fold: Once I get an idea I want it done yesterday; and I do not have what it takes to make my bright idea successful.

See, I have a very Field of Dreams attitude towards my bright ideas. If I build it, they will come. Only they don’t. Because I didn’t build it so great. And I don’t really have that kind of draw anyway.

I’ll give you an example. Patreon.

I got the bright idea to make a Patreon. I thought I knew what I was doing, thought I knew how I was going to do it, and went ahead and did it. I was just sure that I was going to attract patrons in no time at all. With what? I don’t know. My charm, I guess. Must have forgot that I have less of that than I have talent. I digress. The first incarnation of my Patreon was a disaster because I really didn’t develop my idea much past the initial sparkle. The second version –The Murderville novellas- was better because I actually had a plan in place and was able to execute it. It took a lot more work than the first version. Imagine that.

The current version of my Patreon, with the four tiers and multiple projects, is probably the best version of my bright idea. And it only took me more years than I wish to count. However, it’s still not the Iowa cornfield ballpark I was hoping for because a) I don’t put out nearly enough free content to attract potential patrons and b) it’s MY content. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my years of writing is that I do not write what people want to read. Sure, my self-promotion game also isn’t the greatest (I feel like I’m annoying people), but if what I was promoting was even slightly appealing, I think it would make up for it.

This isn’t to say that I don’t appreciate the people who have become patrons. Yes, I question their decision-making skills, but I’m also grateful that they choose to continue to invest in my work. Knowing I have this little, core audience keeps my ego inflated. I’m just saying that I have a way of dimming my bright ideas so they don’t quite shine like they should.

I’ve done it with self-publishing, traditional publishing, podcasting, self-employment, .you name it. My creative endeavor bright ideas suffer in my hands. I don’t plan and construct them correctly because I’m in a hurry to get to that gain -money, attention, applause, advancement, whatever. I want the result. And the result is too often disappointing.

So for now, my bright idea of self-publishing my poetry will remain just that. A bright idea.

Favorite Cover Songs

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’ve probably already done a post like this in the past, but like the 20 Tracks post I did, this one was also inspired by a thread on social media. It came across my Blue Sky timeline asking for your favorite cover song. Some people were putting a lot of stipulations on determining their choices, but not me. I looked at the prompt and said, “I can’t pick just one” and it became a blog post.

Because I have so many that I want to mention, I’m grouping them into categories of sorts. I’m also lazy and not linking them to anything. You’re grown. You know how to internet. Work that search engine, baby.

One of the qualifiers someone mentioned in their favorite cover song determination was that it should be more successful than the original. Allow me to introduce you to The Monkees. “(I’m Not You) Steppin’ Stone” was first done by Paul Revere and the Raiders, but became a huge hit for The Monkees (twenty years later, The Monkees covered another song by Paul Revere and the Raiders, “Kicks”, for their twentieth anniversary album). Another one of their hits, “Mary, Mary”, was written by Michael Nesmith and was recorded by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band before The Monkees became a thing. Run DMC put their own twist on the song years later.

Speaking of The Monkees, Run DMC isn’t the only one who’s covered their songs. Everyone knows Smashmouth’s version of “I’m a Believer” thanks to the movie Shrek, but my preferred version is by the indie band Echo Orbiter. Another indie band, Bikeride, did my favorite cover of another Monkees song, “(Look Out) Here Comes Tomorrow”. In case you’re curious, they’re both on a compilation album called Through the Looking Glass: Indie Pop Plays the Monkees.

Let’s keep talking about The Monkees for just a minute, specifically, Micky Dolenz. He’s done quite a few covers during his solo career (including an album entirely of Nez’s songs), but two of my favorites that he’s done are “Crying in the Rain”, with his sister Coco Dolenz, and “Good Morning, Good Morning”, which was originally done by The Beatles (a snippet of their version was used with permission in the final episode of The Monkees). I kind of like Micky’s version better than the original. Don’t tell Paul or Ringo.

Let’s move on to The Beatles, shall we? Two of my other favorite covers of their classic songs: Aimee Mann’s version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and Oingo Boingo’s version of “I Am the Walrus”. Goo goo g’ joob.

Another one of my favorite Beatles covers is Eddie Vedder’s version of “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away”, but then Eddie Vedder might be one of my favorite cover artists. Back in the day, I bought a Pearl Jam CD single (oh wow, remember those?) featuring covers of “Last Kiss” and “Soldier of Love”. I bought it for the “A” side, but I ended up loving the “B” side more.

One cover song cliche is slowing down a song. The technique is usually found in movie trailers. However, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Three of my favorite slow downs are “Toxic” by The Chapin Sisters, “Light My Fire” by Julie London, and “Do You Wanna Dance” by The Mamas and the Papas.

My lack of distaste for slow downs is probably because my favorite kind of cover song is the one that switches genres.

My all-time favorite cover song is “Super Freak” by Bruce Hornsby, Ricky Skaggs, and John Anderson, who took the Rick James classic and gave it a country/bluegrass twist. It shouldn’t work, but it does. The Gourds did a similar makeover with Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice”, which I also love.

Instead of slowing down, how about going harder? I have a sincere fondness for the hard rock/metal versions of “Barbie Girl” by MxPx and “La Bamba” by either Rancid or Overbass. I’m not sure which one as I acquired this particular tune during the questionable downloading days when not everything was accurately labeled and even the internet isn’t sure who did it. Also, Alien Ant Farm’s cover of “Smooth Criminal” deserves a mention. They took an already bad ass song and made it more bad ass.

If I need to go punk, I’ll go for Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, especially “Science Fiction/Double Feature” and “Different Drum” (another Nez penned song, this one made famous by Linda Ronstadt and Stone Poneys).

And if I really want to go wild, then I’m all about the pop jazz versions of “Wonderwall” by The Mike Flower Pops and “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Paul Anka. Yes, you read that right. That Paul Anka. And, yes, it shouldn’t work, but it does.

Think I’m wrong? Keep it to yourself. Think I’m missing some good covers? Let me know.

Schrodinger’s Fatphobe: Fashion Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

“I’m all for body positivity, but…”

“I think people should wear what they want, but…”

I’ve heard or read these sorts of statements frequently, particularly in the warmer months of the year (gee, I wonder why), and let me tell you, the “but” is where folks show their ass. That “but” is guaranteed to be followed by some hateful, judgy shit that stinks up the entire statement. This Grade F manure isn’t restricted to just fat women, or fat folks. That “but” can be applied to folks of a certain age, gender presentation, sexuality, or color, too. But for the purpose of this post, I’m going to focus on my fat femme presenters because I am a fat femme presenter.

Folks really tend to feel some kind of way about the fashion of fat women. They’ve got a real hang-up when it comes to the way they adorn themselves. They’re all about body positivity, you know, think everyone should wear what they want, but if you’re fat, well, you shouldn’t wear that.

In my experience, “that” can be shorts, crop tops, tank tops, two-piece bathing suits, skirts, dresses that show any leg, arm, or cleavage, sandals, spandex, lycra, anything deemed too tight, anything that shows rolls, anything that shows too much skin.

Because they’re body positive and they believe everyone should wear what they want, but they don’t want to see you wear what you want. Could you please be comfortable and stylish and fat elsewhere? Thanks.

They say it with such authority, too! Like because my cellulite offends their delicate sensibilities, I shouldn’t wear shorts. Well, Sandra, it’s 90 degrees and the humidity has it feeling like 100. I’m afraid you’re going to have to endure my bat wings and fat rolls along with the heat wave.

“If you weigh over X amount, you shouldn’t wear…”

First of all, no two people wear their weight alike. 220 pounds on me looks a lot different than it does on my sister. (No, I don’t currently weigh 220 pounds and I have no idea what my sister weighs. I just remember that at one point in time, the two of us both weighed about 220 and no one would have guessed we weighed the same because of how we carried the weight.) Second of all, there aren’t weight limits on clothes. Nowhere on the tag does it say that I can’t wear yoga pants or a crop top because I exceed the maximum weight limit. The clothes are in my size, I’m going to wear them. That’s how clothing works.

And before someone trips over themselves to point out the people who wear clothes they think are too small, well, that’s the size they want to wear. I suggest you make peace with that for the sake of your blood pressure.

I’m not saying that I don’t judge people’s fashion choices. I admit to being a judgy person. I think I could place respectably in the Judgmental Olympics. However, I’m less likely to be too het up on judging the superficial. I may see somebody wearing something that I find questionable, and I may think to myself, “That is certainly a choice”, and I may question the motives behind the style choice, but as long as they’re comfortable, happy, and feeling good, rock on then. I don’t feel the need to blast my judgy opinion about some stranger’s garb on social media. I definitely don’t feel the need to say it to their face. Remember what I said about other people’s opinions not being my problem? Same goes for me. My opinions are not other people’s problem, either.

Now, if I know the person, if we’re friends or family, if I love them and we have the kind of relationship that allows me to voice my opinions, I may say, “Are you good with your cheeks hanging out of your shorts like that? It seems like an invitation to an awkward sunburn.” And if they’re like, “Yeah, I feel good. I look good. I want to wear these shorts,” then, baby, I will put the sunblock on their booty dimples myself. Because I am body positive. I’m positive you can dress your body the way you want (within legal limits, of course; the only cops we want involved in fashion belong to the Village People), even if it’s not what I would choose, and especially if it’s not what society would have you do.

No buts about it.

I’m Queer (Even If I Don’t Always Feel Like I Am)

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I don’t remember what I was going to write when I first conceived of this blog post idea (I probably should have made some notes because, no self, you’re not going to remember it later), so let’s just write a bunch of queer thoughts, shall we?

I’ve been out as a bisexual since I was 17. I’ve gotten more confident in my sexuality in the ensuing years, but I still question myself. I’ve been single a long time and I have even less relationship experience with women than I do with men. Sometimes I ask myself, “Do I really like girls?” And then I’ll see a beautiful woman and once I stop thinking very unclean thoughts, I say, “Yeah, no, I definitely like girls.”

I’ve got Pride flags (progress and bi), Pride rings (rainbow and bi), an obnoxious Pride shirt that says “Let Me Be Perfectly Queer”, and yet, I’ve never been to a Pride event. Never been to a parade. Never even been to a gay bar. I would love to experience all of those things. I don’t have a bucket list, but it’s safe to say they’re all on my Long-Term To Do List.

I think there are several reasons why I haven’t engaged more with the queer community in the physical, aside from the fact that I’m introvertedly inclined and therefore require more energy to participate in social situations. I think part of it is my bisexual insecurity of not being queer enough to be in those spaces. I think the other part is not having very many queer associates in my meat space. I don’t exactly have folks around that I go can go to these things with, which would make that easier for me. Yes, dears, it’s always about my comfort.

Being out and not having very many queer associates in the immediate vicinity means that I’m often the token queer in my friends groups, at certain family events, and at work. I am often the queer education center of those people, answering their questions and trying to provide them with accurate info. I’m also the one who feels responsible to correct them even when they don’t ask for it. I will correct folks on someone’s pronouns and I will call folks out for their homophobic jokes and I will explain in excruciating detail everything I know about trans folks. Why? Because apparently some knowledge needs to administered against people’s will. Learn it or continue to have me ruin the vibe by being a buzzkilling well-actually.

Do I always want to be the queer answer-person in these situations? No. Do I always want to be the queer existence enforcer? No. Sometimes I’m tired and I don’t feel like being the only bisexual you know. But I’m the only bisexual you know, so I have a duty to uphold.

And what’s really wild is that I don’t always feel queer enough to be that person. That I haven’t had enough of the first-hand queer experience to be that guy.

I have been very fortunate to find a queer community online, starting back in the long, long ago of the early days of the internets when we were all communicating on message boards and AIM and LiveJournal. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing the journeys of many groovy people as they evolved through labels until finding the ones that fit. I’ve gotten to witness the expansion of the queer community -as well as the bullshit gatekeeping within it. I’ve gotten to fully immerse myself in an online queer experience to such an extent that I forget -for a second- that not everyone is queer. That being part of the rainbow isn’t the default. I guess this is how straight, cis people feel moving through the world.

I suppose I wrote all of this to say I’m here, I’m queer, I will be gay and do crimes, I will let my freak flag fly, and I’m bi and I exist. Even when I don’t always feel like it.

Happy Pride.

I’m Not a Morning Person, But I Am Waking Up Better

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

There are three kinds of people: morning people, night owls, and people who can do either. I happen to be a secret fourth kind of person who doesn’t like waking up period. It doesn’t matter when. Waking up pisses me off and I’m mad that I’m conscious.

There was a time in my life when I had the energy of youth that sort of overrode that anger. I don’t have time to be angry about being awake because I have shit to do. I no longer possess that kind of energy. I’ve got a middle-aged battery now.

I’ve also developed some bad habits that have drained that battery, maybe even damaged it.

Leaving aside the health issues I’ve dealt with for the last five or six or seven years that I know have made their negative impact, my morning and nighttime routines have probably done more damage, particularly my morning routine.

Back in the long, long ago of my youth, when I got up in the morning, I laid in bed for a bit, watched a little TV, and then got up. Unless I had to go to work. Then I just dragged my ass out of bed and got on with it. I might have been tired, but I found the energy to do it. There was a period of time when I was exercising in the morning for 20 to 30 minutes five days a week and did so with almost no issue at all. I was never too tired to workout. I just did it.

In the past several smart phone years, my morning routine morphed into me waking up, rolling over, putting on my glasses, and immediately picking up my phone to start my day of going through emails and scrolling through social media. Given the growing dumpster fire that is our current reality situation, I suppose it really should be no surprise that I don’t want to get out of bed. Exercising five days a week, even for ten or fifteen minutes, became an impossible task. I cut it down to three days to up the odds that the workouts would get done at all. And if I did have the energy (which was rare), many times I’d be in bed so long scrolling to catch up on my timelines that by the time I was finished, I really didn’t have time to exercise anyway.

It came to a point that one morning I was scrolling through Twitter, telling myself to stop and get out of bed, but I just couldn’t make myself. I was miserable, but I couldn’t stop until I was finished.

Doesn’t take an advanced degree to tell me that isn’t healthy.

In my desperation to fix this bad habit and improve my morning routine in the hopes I might feel better, I didn’t really give my remedy too much thought. I wouldn’t pick up my phone first thing. I’d read or journal. When I did pick up my phone, it was only to go through my email and maybe Instagram. No Twitter or BlueSky until after breakfast. Let’s how it goes.

Let’s see if I could do it.

I was sure I’d cave and check BlueSky at least, or maybe put off starting the change “one more day”.

To my surprise, I just did it. I woke up on a Monday morning, rolled over, put on my glasses, and picked up my Kindle instead of my phone. I read a couple chapters of my book before I checked my email and scrolled through Instagram. That was it. I didn’t even think about checking BlueSky or Twitter.

Not as surprising was how much easier it was to start my day, how much more energy I had, how much easier it was for me to put on my sports bra and exercise, how much easier my entire day was by putting off the deluge of worldly information.

How much easier it was to deal with that deluge of worldly information after an improved morning routine.

In the first week or so after I started my new morning routine, I caught myself a few times reaching for my phone first thing, but caught myself before I could fall into my old pattern, putting down the phone as soon as I realized the autopilot was engaged. Those were valuable saves, I think. Otherwise, I might have given in and given up.

It’s amazing how much difference a little change can make. I wonder if I can fix my whole life this way.

Better start with my bedtime routine first.

Sorry, That’s Not My Problem–Other People’s Opinions Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

Let’s talk about other people’s opinions.

Everybody has an opinion on something. The kids today, what that lady is wearing, the blathering of an ex-reality star, that guy’s hair, that other guy’s podcast, the casting choices in period shows on streaming services, the state of the neighbor’s yard, the money the other neighbor spent on a new truck, what that celebrity wore to that premier, and that royal marriage. Petty ass opinions on petty ass shit.

These opinions are not my problem.

They are not my problem because they are about nouns that do not affect me. Most of the time, they are about nouns that I don’t even have my own opinion on, or if I do have an opinion, it’s not worth the effort to share it because I care about that noun so little.

This could be a byproduct of working in customer service. Working with the public, you find yourself subjected to many unsolicited opinions on a wide variety of subjects. Not only are these opinions unsolicited, they’re frequently unrelated to the customer service task at hand. There you are, minding your business, helping a customer/patron, and the next thing you know they’re telling you all of their thoughts and feelings about Prince Harry. With all due respect Sir/Madam/As The Case Maybe, that you take umbridge with his royal behavior is not my problem. I have no idea why you’d think it would be or why you’re even telling me this. This hourly wage will only get you so much. And no worries, I will not get you started on his wife.

But I find myself this callous in my personal life as well. While I enjoy having conversations with friends and family and acquaintances, I’ve found that there are times that their opinions are not my problem. You think that woman is too old to be wearing that? I think that I don’t have the energy to concern myself with something that doesn’t affect me. Where do you get your vim and verve? Let’s talk about that instead. Maybe I’m no longer in the mood to rip strangers apart for insignificant, superficial things that do not impact my existence in the least. Maybe I’d rather roast the local politician’s insistence that libraries are indoctrinating children instead. Seems more productive.

In my advancing age, this has begun to encompass other people’s opinions about myself as well. I’ve always said you shouldn’t care what other people think, but I’d be a liar to say that I haven’t spent most of my existence vacillating between not caring and caring too much. But more often, I find those opinions that other folks might have of me falling into the “not my problem” category. Don’t like what I’m wearing? Avert your eyes. Don’t like how I live my life? Bankroll it and I’ll consider your feelings. Maybe.

I realize that this comes across as somewhat inconsiderate and misanthropic, but I’m not saying that I’m disregarding anyone’s opinions. I’m not saying that they’re wrong.

They’re not just my problem.

I Am an Intimidation Tactic

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I am the library witch.

I don’t know know when it happened, but sometime in the last almost five years of employment I became the library clerk to be feared.

People whisper not to cross me or I’ll hex them. I’m talked about like a punishment, a threat. “This is Christin. She’s our cudgel.” I am the threat of blunt force trauma in snazzy pants and funky tights and cute dresses. We joke about the ghosts of librarians past, but I’m the one that actually haunts the library. I skulk through the stacks, looking for children to scare and patrons to frighten. Coworkers to bully.

I am more feared than an ’80s slasher villain no matter their body count and how many times they come back from the dead.

I am a curse.

And I have no idea what to make of it. Because I’ve been this way for a long time. I can’t say forever because I wasn’t like this when I was a kid. I was shy and sensitive and incredibly weird. I admit that I’ve always been an angry little thing and prone to fighting and that did give me a little bit of a reputation. Turned out to stick with me even though the only person I fought in high school was my sister, who also had a bit of a reputation as someone not to cross. One of our friends whom we’d known since childhood once said that everyone wanted to be our friend because nobody wanted to be on our bad side.

Okay, maybe I have always been this way. It just had to mature along with me, refine itself into this raven that sits on my shoulder, alerting everyone to my potential.

I seem to haunt every place I go. If there’s a group dynamic, I unintentionally establish myself as the imminent danger.

I think it’s in part because I do not suffer fools. I come from a family of non-fool sufferers, which was rough when I was young and a fool because I was not suffered. Now I’m the one who is not doing any suffering. I do not have time for ignorant nonsense. Has customer service exacerbated this aspect of my personality? Absolutely. There’s a prevalence of fools in this line of work and I will not suffer a single one. That makes an impression. Even when I’m not trying to give that impression, it’s so infused in my aura that I still make that impression. More than once I’ve been told that when people first meet me they’re intimidated. While I appreciate that power, it’s not the default the vibe I’m going for.

Most people want to be liked. Life is easier when you’re liked. I don’t think about being liked. I tend to assume that I’m not liked. I’m tolerated. It’s better to be on my good side than my bad. “Don’t make Christin angry. You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry.” And you wouldn’t. I’m less than fun when I’m angry at you (I am hilarious, though, if I’m ranting about something that has nothing to do with you). So, when I find out that people actually like me, it confuses me. Surely, you jest. Did you miss the memo? The vibes? The aura? The warnings?

Or did you figure that befriending the monster would keep you safe? And once you did, you realized that she really isn’t that bad.

As long as you stay on my good side.

I Never Go Out Alone…Anxiety Is My Forever Date

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I’m not the most social creature. I’m like a cryptid. Sightings of me in the wild are rare and to be treasured, sometimes worthy of being caught on film.

When I do make these rare excursions into the social sphere, I prefer to go with others. Also like a cryptid, I’m weird and awkward around humans. Having a friend or a group of friends makes that awkwardness and weirdness less noticeable. It also makes it easier for me to be in a social situation. Having someone else or a group of someone elses with me acts as sort of a buffer from the anxiety of being in a social situation. They are the lubricant that greases the wheels of my social interactions, as it were.

Sometimes, though, I have to fly solo. Or maybe just arrive solo with the intent of meeting up with my lubricants and buffers. But either/or, I’m never really solo. My anxiety is always with me.

Here’s the thing: Alone or with friends, if I’m out and about in a social situation, I never feel like I belong. I always feel awkward and I feel like that awkwardness is apparent. I feel like the people I’m interacting with -even friends I’ve known for decades- can plainly see that I’m poorly cosplaying as a functioning human being. Now, with the friends I’ve known for ages, I eventually relax and even though my anxiety never goes away and I will absolutely rake myself over the coals later about everything I’ve said and done, my anxiety at least relaxes with me for that moment. But, if I’m with people I’m less comfortable with because maybe I haven’t known them as long or I don’t hang out with them as much, or I’m flying solo and forced to be in the midst of people I barely know or don’t know at all, I never relax and neither does my anxiety. I spend the entire time in performance mode, and that my friends, is exhausting.

In theory, the more that I socialize, the more comfortable my anxiety could become with the whole act of socializing. The more my anxiety and I feel comfortable with socializing, the more we’ll feel like we belong in those situations and with those people.

In practice, however…well, I don’t know how it works out in practice because I struggle with getting past my basic cryptid nature and ingrained social anxiety to actually put this into practice. The idea of making myself more available to hang out with people seems like guaranteed rejection because who would want to voluntarily hangout with an anxiety-ridden cryptid? Sure, I would, but that’s because cryptids of a feather. Or another more fitting cryptid feature. I guess it depends on the cryptid. My point is that it’s a pretty big ask to associate with me in a public, social situation and not everyone is up for that and I don’t blame them.

Yes, I know that could just be my anxiety talking, but it could also be true.

In conclusion, this is one of those things that I’m going to spend my existence working on. Maybe one day the practice will finally prove the theory. In the meantime, enjoy the cryptid sightings.