Sunday, July 9, 2017

Broken Glass, Broken Hearts






A friend suggested emphatically the other day that I have pretty well used up this "socially awkward" thing. I'm pretty sure that his implication was that I'm attempting to use this whole thing to elicit sympathy and establish myself as a loser in order to improve my social life.

Well, to begin with, pal, I'm too socially awkward to pull off such a thing. Not only that but I don't have a social life. Guess I told him, huh? I was never on the debate team, either.

This all began a couple of years ago when a woman told me that she always thought that I was, in fact, socially awkward. Then she laughed. Loud. Hard. Within a week I received a Facebook message from another woman, a friend that I have known for a long time but not very well. She happened to mention her initial judgement of me. 

Yeah. I shouldn't have asked. Arrogant and, yep- socially awkward. 

Let me tell you, "arrogant" hurts my feelings.

That other, though, fascinates me. So much of everything from childhood and adolescence makes sense to me now. Some sense. Things from the here and now almost make sense.

If it weren't for the music I wouldn't have connected with anyone. In my mind I communicate. I want to be blood brothers/sisters with almost everyone I meet. I'm afraid of blood, though.

I played rock'n'roll to pick up girls. That sounds so creepy now. I played rock'n'roll. I didn't pick up girls.

Would I have been better off if I had known all along about this condition, do you suppose? I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel like I've lived a life with spinach between my teeth and my zipper down. Heck, I thought we were all having fun.



                                         




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