Oh how I would love to smack a post-it on the foreheads of many.
Imagine reaching your hand into your pocket, any pocket, and magically pulling out a post-it with ‘ BULLSHIT!’ written on it. Now, imagine taking that post-it and smacking it across someone’s forehead. Not their cheek or their mouth or anywhere else, their forehead. Plain and simple. Are you with me? Can you see it? Can you see yourself smacking the hell out of someone and instead of simply leaving a hand-print you leave a mark of ‘BULLSHIT!’ across their head. I can see it.
As a matter of fact, I can see it clearly on a number of different heads. I see it in the written works of many. I hear it in those who speak of grandiose plans of this or that. I know it to be present in those who are still ‘up to’ the same bit of nothing they were up to in our high school years; those who are still talking about doing what they were talking about doing way back when. I smell it in those who seem to never run out of excuses. I sense it permeating through the words of countless others. To those who write it, I say to you: ‘ BULLSHIT!’ To those who speak it, I say to you: 'BULLSHIT!’ To those who will eternally be talkin’ the talk, I say to you: ‘BULLSHIT!’ To those who make excuse after excuse, I say to you: ‘BULLSHIT!’
For those instances (which I’m sure will be rather frequent) in which the nonsense you read, hear, know, or sense is full of too much shit for a simple smack to cover, by all means, knock ‘em down. Smack the hell out of that person so hard with that post-it that they literally fall down. Believe me, they deserve it.
Not a day goes by in which I don’t want to smack the bullshit out of someone, but I do realize that I too, would be smacked on occasion. Granted those days would be few and far between, but nonetheless, I’d be walking around with a post-it on my forehead. That being said, while I realize that I may say some things that are full of it from time to time, most people would not realize their need to be smacked and therein lies the problem with my post-its. It seems that the people who are full of the most shit are the ones who don’t at all realize it. They’re able to decipher it in any and everyone else, but never in themselves and that’s a problem. I could see it now: people would be running amuck smacking folks and then getting upset when they themselves are smacked to the ground. Chaos would ensue. Then again, if those needing a ‘BULLSHIT!’ realized that they were full of it, I wouldn’t need to smack them in the first place. Hmm, catch 22, I guess.
But oh how I would love to smack a post-it on the foreheads of many.
September 13th marked the two year ‘anniversary’ away from what I thought I knew and would always miss and I must say, that my outlook on year two in Pittsburgh differs quite a bit from that first year here. Sites and seasons are no longer new and I no longer consider myself to be a stranger caught in the rapture of such naiveté. Instead, I can wholly say that this past year was one abounding with submission, frustration, anger, sorrow, confusion, and wishful acceptance and what I’ve realized, is that I have absolutely nothing to say about this past year.
It hurts like I’d imagine ripping duck take off my pubic area would. Oh wait, I guess that pretty much sums up waxing. Hmm, never mind. Scratch that thought.
It hurt, and I cried. It hurts and it’s going to for a good while longer. It’s only just begun …
This Usher cd knocks. I’m still stuck on that Hootie & the Blowfish cd, too. It’s Hootie in the car, Usher in the crib …
Not doing things that I’ve grown accustomed to doing for years now, is going to be extremely difficult. Breaking habits and steering clear of “the norm” will take some time to adjust to.
It’s going to be interesting and probably painful still, to see where things are in a few days/weeks/months …
I’m not mad; I just have nothing to say. Well there’s plenty that I’d like to say (most of which has already been said a few times already), but I’m tired of speaking only to have my words blocked by that invisible wall in front of your ears.
July 17th can’t come soon enough …
OT of that Pens game last night was crazy insane. I don’t even really watch hockey (which explains why I skipped all three periods of regulation), but sudden death, triple overtime, one game away from elimination in the Stanley Cup Finals! Yeah, those triple OT periods were rather entertaining.
Sex and the City was a really good movie. Yeah, I can stand to see that a few more times. I hope a few people I know take the time to see it too. One site said of the flick: “[I]t’s the perfect movie to possibly refresh your relationships with your girlfriends…” Ain’t that the truth? But yes, very good movie.
I’m so drained …
“Oh, but life goes on
And before too long
You figure out you're right where you belong …”
“Cinderella made me realize that I can’t trust white people. White people can’t even trust white people.” Lol! Sharee is too dang funny … and can break down a Disney flick like no one else. Really. Talk to her when you’re feeling down.
It hurt. It still does. There's nothing to compare it to.
I’m so ready to bounce back to reality in a month in a half. I miss hanging out with the family and friends who really know and appreciate me …
July 17th can’t come soon enough. But until then, it’s back to life, back to reality …
Have you ever considered writing-off people like you write-off clothes for tax purposes? I mean, it’s really a wonderful thing when you think about it. You have a closet full of clothes that are extremely difficult to get rid of, because they hold some sort of sentimental value and you know that if you didn’t really need the space, you’d never even consider getting rid of the items. But deep down, whether you truly wish to hold on to the items of not, you realize that it’s time to move on, clear out that space, and make way for new things.
Similarly, many of us have people in our lives that need to be written-off in order to free up space within our minds. While there are those that are like a white T-shirt –good and dependable throughout the course of time, others need to be donated to society for the next person to use. It’s not that they’re completely useless and should be thrown away, but rather, they are no longer of use for the purpose that they once served in our lives. Perhaps someone else will gain something from them –quite possibly something that we never could. Perhaps someone else will use them until they find they fulfill their purpose and once again, donate that person to society. Perhaps this cycle will happen time and again. Perhaps it will happen only once. Who knows?
Unlike donated clothing, the reward won’t be anything monetary, but instead it’d likely be much needed peace-of-mind and the retention of our sanity. Donate a few shirts, write them off, and get a few bucks back. Donate a person or two, write them off, and get a portion of your sanity back. Of course writing a person off doesn’t mean that you have to stop acknowledging their presence or existence. If you recognized someone wearing a shirt that you knew for a fact was something that you donated, wouldn’t you say to yourself “Hey, that’s my shirt!” or something similar? If you see that person you donated, there’s no reason why you can’t speak to them. I mean, you used to have good times together, right? If they were difficult to part with in the first place, it’s only natural that you’d still have some affection for them.
So far in 2008, I’ve officially written off one person, but it’s beginning to look like that number will be up to three by the time taxes are due next year. While necessary, the task is never an easy one, but I’m realizing that the more difficult it is to get rid of because of my attachment to the donation, the greater the recuperation of my sanity. The task is never an easy one …
A friend of mine recently said that “People want a warm, soft lie, when they should be getting the cold, hard truth” and I find this to be true of far too many people in my life. For longer than I could remember, the cold, hard truth was what I delivered to people and whether or not I thought they could “handle” it was of no concern to me. As I matured though, it made sense that I should be aware and cautious of what I said around and to people, but now I lose sleep over unspoken thoughts and opinions and I wonder if that was the wisest choice I could have made. And I wonder, hypothetically of course, are there some things better left unsaid? Or, are there some wars worth fighting and some tears worth crying?
Recently, I’ve begun to wonder exactly why it was that I finally started to say things “tactfully” –why I replaced the cold, hard truth with warm, soft lies. I believe it was because I knew and still know that should I speak my mind to certain people, we will likely cease to remain friends. Now I wonder, if I can’t speak my mind to a friend, is the relationship even worth maintaining? More and more frequently, the answer to this recurring question has been a resounding “NO;” yet still I find myself wondering if my tact in regards to my thoughts and formerly inevitable comments are better left unsaid. And while I’m not exactly talking about having diarrhea of the mouth and saying any and every statement, ignorant or not, that develops on the tip of my tongue, I do wonder what it’d be like if I spoke my mind, completely unconcerned about another’s feelings –if I administered the cold, hard truth like I once did.
As much as I would like to reduce the extent of my care and concern for others’, I can’t deny the fact that I do indeed care and because “nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having an opinion,” I wish that I possessed an attitude that was truly indifferent towards all, or at least most. I want to write this or that person off. I want to verbalize the notions in my mind and if the person can’t deal with it, I want to say “screw you” for a period of time that exceeds one week. I want to voice the cold, hard truth, unconcerned with that person’s emotions. I would love to truly not care about the course of actions that one takes or the idiotic things that they might say. To be so lacking of an opinion that my mind could finally find itself capable of rest would be a welcome occurrence. I want to be indifferent so that I could speak the truth without considering the other person’s feelings, but it’s just not possible. I have an opinion and I care too much to reveal the cold, hard truth to those who need to hear it.
Perhaps I’ll one day revert to those years when I spoke the cold, hard truth, because I was unaware of the fact that emotions were involved. Only when this happens, I’ll be fully aware of the person’s emotions –I’ll just be indifferent.
