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In which I essentially do to the internet what I am complaining about people doing to me:
Okay, internet, I am having a problem and I AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT.
This is the thing: I am cursed. I have always been cursed. I inherited this curse from my mother, and someday, if I decide that reproduction is on my to-do list, my child will probably inherit it from me.
The curse of which I speak is The Curse of Approachability, and I possess it in spades.
I DO NOTHING TO ENCOURAGE THIS, YOU GUYS. I mean, okay, admittedly once people start talking I don't actively demand that they stop, because that would be rude and bitchy and sometimes they tell me horrible, horrible things and I feel guilty and I want to make them feel better, but that does not explain why THEY TALK TO ME TO BEGIN WITH. And I am not anti-social, I am not opposed to random conversation--I will happily strike up a friendly chat with someone in line with me at the grocery store, I am more than willing to engage in casual dialogue with strangers. That is not what I am talking about.
This is what I am talking about: people walk up to me, and, apropos of nothing, tell me their life stories.
No, look, I'm serious. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY.
Me: Oh, lalalala, I am going to order a cup of coffee because I stayed up too late reading & writing Inception fic and now I feel like death. So I will just stand here quietly in line and--
Random Woman Behind Me In Line: I HAVE KIDNEY ISSUES.
Me: Oh! Um, I'm very sorry--
RWBMIL: LET ME TELL YOU AN EXTENDED AND GRAPHIC TALE ABOUT MY PROBLEMS URINATING.
Me: Oh my god, um, that sounds terrible--
RWBMIL: OH, DID YOU WANT TO GO TO WORK? BECAUSE I AM GOING TO CONTINUE TELLING YOU ABOUT THIS AT GREAT LENGTH WHILE PEOPLE AROUND US LOOK AWAY. I HOPE YOU DO NOT MIND BEING LATE!
Me: I...um. Um. Oh my god, um. Help?
I eventually escape her, go to work, and pull a half-day because my office is dead. I go out to the parking garage.
Me: Lalala I will just stick my ticket in the machine and pay it there is not even anyone in here lalalala--
Lady Who COMES OUT OF NOWHERE: Aren't the prices at this garage outrageous?
Me: Yeah, it's a bummer--
LWCOON: I CANNOT AFFORD TO PARK HERE BECAUSE MY OLDEST SON IS IN COLLEGE GETTING A DEGREE HE'LL NEVER USE AND MY DAUGHTER INSISTED ON BALLET LESSONS EVEN THOUGH MY HUSBAND IS A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DEADBEAT WHO NEVER DRIVES HER ANYWHERE AND I HAD TO PARK HERE THIS MORNING BECAUSE I WAS RUNNING LATE BECAUSE MY SISTER'S KID VOMITED AND I HAD TO TAKE HIM TO THE DOCTOR BECAUSE SHE'S NOT RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH TO DO IT HERSELF AND WE'VE NEVER GOTTEN ALONG BUT I'M STILL EXPECTED TO DO HER ALL THESE FAVORS AND I FORGOT MY LUNCH AND I HAVE A BLISTER ON MY FOOT FROM THESE STUPID SHOES BECAUSE I MEANT TO GRAB THE OTHER ONES AND--
Me: Jesus Christ, WHAT AM I DOING TO ENCOURAGE THIS.
I mean, look. I like people! I do, I genuinely like people, I find them fascinating and compelling and there are times--in bars, in waiting rooms--where I like hearing about their lives. I spend all my free time writing, be it original stuff or fic, and the more you talk to people better you are at writing about people. I don't deny this. And I feel bad, because I know someone who is unloading their woes on a random girl they've never met before is probably really lonely, and that sucks, so I try to be kind.
But, just, Jesus Christ. Sometimes I'll be writing in a coffee shop with my headphones in and people will tap me on the shoulder and make me take my headphones out and then will start talking. Random people! People I've never laid eyes on! I'm starting to wonder if I'm like, secretly blacking out and going around town making ~lasting connections~ I don't know about, because honest to god what what what. And while there are certainly times I'm happy to listen, there are also times--when I'm on my way to work, when I'm running errands, when I'm supposed to be somewhere--that I really can't. But how do I even begin to interrupt someone telling me about their battle with cancer to tell them I've got a dentist appointment in fifteen minutes? Their problems are clearly worse and more important than mine--but at the same time, I don't even know their name.
I don't know, guys. I just don't know. Maybe it's just my face?
This is the thing: I am cursed. I have always been cursed. I inherited this curse from my mother, and someday, if I decide that reproduction is on my to-do list, my child will probably inherit it from me.
The curse of which I speak is The Curse of Approachability, and I possess it in spades.
I DO NOTHING TO ENCOURAGE THIS, YOU GUYS. I mean, okay, admittedly once people start talking I don't actively demand that they stop, because that would be rude and bitchy and sometimes they tell me horrible, horrible things and I feel guilty and I want to make them feel better, but that does not explain why THEY TALK TO ME TO BEGIN WITH. And I am not anti-social, I am not opposed to random conversation--I will happily strike up a friendly chat with someone in line with me at the grocery store, I am more than willing to engage in casual dialogue with strangers. That is not what I am talking about.
This is what I am talking about: people walk up to me, and, apropos of nothing, tell me their life stories.
No, look, I'm serious. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY.
Me: Oh, lalalala, I am going to order a cup of coffee because I stayed up too late reading & writing Inception fic and now I feel like death. So I will just stand here quietly in line and--
Random Woman Behind Me In Line: I HAVE KIDNEY ISSUES.
Me: Oh! Um, I'm very sorry--
RWBMIL: LET ME TELL YOU AN EXTENDED AND GRAPHIC TALE ABOUT MY PROBLEMS URINATING.
Me: Oh my god, um, that sounds terrible--
RWBMIL: OH, DID YOU WANT TO GO TO WORK? BECAUSE I AM GOING TO CONTINUE TELLING YOU ABOUT THIS AT GREAT LENGTH WHILE PEOPLE AROUND US LOOK AWAY. I HOPE YOU DO NOT MIND BEING LATE!
Me: I...um. Um. Oh my god, um. Help?
I eventually escape her, go to work, and pull a half-day because my office is dead. I go out to the parking garage.
Me: Lalala I will just stick my ticket in the machine and pay it there is not even anyone in here lalalala--
Lady Who COMES OUT OF NOWHERE: Aren't the prices at this garage outrageous?
Me: Yeah, it's a bummer--
LWCOON: I CANNOT AFFORD TO PARK HERE BECAUSE MY OLDEST SON IS IN COLLEGE GETTING A DEGREE HE'LL NEVER USE AND MY DAUGHTER INSISTED ON BALLET LESSONS EVEN THOUGH MY HUSBAND IS A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DEADBEAT WHO NEVER DRIVES HER ANYWHERE AND I HAD TO PARK HERE THIS MORNING BECAUSE I WAS RUNNING LATE BECAUSE MY SISTER'S KID VOMITED AND I HAD TO TAKE HIM TO THE DOCTOR BECAUSE SHE'S NOT RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH TO DO IT HERSELF AND WE'VE NEVER GOTTEN ALONG BUT I'M STILL EXPECTED TO DO HER ALL THESE FAVORS AND I FORGOT MY LUNCH AND I HAVE A BLISTER ON MY FOOT FROM THESE STUPID SHOES BECAUSE I MEANT TO GRAB THE OTHER ONES AND--
Me: Jesus Christ, WHAT AM I DOING TO ENCOURAGE THIS.
I mean, look. I like people! I do, I genuinely like people, I find them fascinating and compelling and there are times--in bars, in waiting rooms--where I like hearing about their lives. I spend all my free time writing, be it original stuff or fic, and the more you talk to people better you are at writing about people. I don't deny this. And I feel bad, because I know someone who is unloading their woes on a random girl they've never met before is probably really lonely, and that sucks, so I try to be kind.
But, just, Jesus Christ. Sometimes I'll be writing in a coffee shop with my headphones in and people will tap me on the shoulder and make me take my headphones out and then will start talking. Random people! People I've never laid eyes on! I'm starting to wonder if I'm like, secretly blacking out and going around town making ~lasting connections~ I don't know about, because honest to god what what what. And while there are certainly times I'm happy to listen, there are also times--when I'm on my way to work, when I'm running errands, when I'm supposed to be somewhere--that I really can't. But how do I even begin to interrupt someone telling me about their battle with cancer to tell them I've got a dentist appointment in fifteen minutes? Their problems are clearly worse and more important than mine--but at the same time, I don't even know their name.
I don't know, guys. I just don't know. Maybe it's just my face?
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BUT YEAH, YOU NEED TO TELL THEM THAT YOU'RE VERY SORRY AND YOU HAVE SOMEWHERE YOU NEED TO BE BECAUSE YOU'RE ALREADY LATE. THEM TALKING TO YOU IS ALMOST CERTAINLY NOT GOING TO SOLVE THEIR PROBLEMS ANYWAY.
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- MY FRIEND STOOD IN VOMIT JUST PRIOR TO THE AFOREMENTIONED PISSING
- I BIT THROUGH MY BOTTOM LIP WHILE SLEEPING AND LOOK LIKE I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING/AM A HEROIN JUNKIE
- MULTIPLE FIRE ALARMS WENT OFF IN MY BUILDING FOR NO APPARENT REASON, FORCING ME OUTSIDE IN UGLY PLAID PYJAMAS
- BUILDERS KEPT SHOWING UP TO MY ROOM TO ~FIX~ MYSTERIOUS THINGS, PERHAPS THEY HAVE THE CAMERAS?
JIZZ, WHAT IS MY LIFE?
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PLEASE ENCIRCLE Y/Y.
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CURSE YOU SPARKLETEXT WHY ARE YOU NOT SHOWING UP ON MY SCREEEEEEEN
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LET'S DO THIS.
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I'LL BE WEARING THIS:
DON'T BE LATE, I HAD TO STEAL A CAR AND YOU KNOW HOW THE ITALIANS ARE ABOUT THEIR BLOODY MOTOR VEHICLES.
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AND I'M BRINGING THE WHISKEY ANYWAY, JUST SO WE'RE ENTIRELY CLEAR.
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BRING AN AK-47 AND A FAKE PASSPORT AND WE'RE ALL SET.
(INCIDENTALLY, I HAVE FOUND THE PERFECT GIRL!EAMES DRESS:
WHAT THE FUCK? IT'S PRADA. IT'S PROBABLY WORTH MORE THAN ME.)
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(JESUS, SO TRUE. I CANNOT EVEN COMPETE WITH THAT, OH MY GODDDDD.)
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BUT WE ~ARE~ GOING TO A MOTEL ROOM. WE ARE GOING TO ~DO~ THINGS IN THIS MOTEL ROOM. AND I AM AS SEEDY AS SEEDY COMES, ERGO...
SHOOT ME IF YOU MUST, DARLING. WORRY NOT, I SHALL ENJOY IT.
(I KNOW. I KNOW! WHAT THE SHIT. IT HAS BOWS. MULTIPLE BOWS!)
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INSANE, YES. OVERLY-INDULGENT, YES. BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU, PROBABLY, YES. BUT NOT SEEDY. THIS IS A DUNHILL.
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I WASN'T IMPLYING THAT YOU LEAVE YOUR CLOTHES ON, BUT THERE'S SOMETHING INTERESTINGLY KINKY ABOUT THAT SUGGESTION. PERHAPS YOU HAVE AN IMAGINATION AFTER ALL. OR DO YOU PERSIST IN BELIEVING THAT MOTELS DO NOT PROVIDE CLOTHES HANGERS?
WELL, IF YOU'RE SO ADAMANT THAT TONIGHT IS GOING TO BE SQUEAKY CLEAN, I'D BETTER DISCREETLY LEAVE THESE ~SUPPLIES~ HERE, BETTER I?