---
Choice
This is a place I choose not to pretend.
This is someplace where its ok for everyone else to make or pass judgment based on what I write because in the end its only a perception on words. I cannot fault anyone else for misconstruing intent because there is no intonation nor subtle vocal / physical context in my typewritten words.
And so what.
Anyone can say what they want of me when they read this blog and I shouldn’t really care. After all, nothing here will change their lives drastically. No dissemination of information I post up here will be of major relevance and revelation to anyone.
And so what.
So I can choose to not pretend.
But it’s not the case when you live in the breathing, visceral world.
Growth
Growing older here means, getting more frustration.
And I suppose, growing more sensitive, and in a bad way. Home situations do nothing to aid this. Every morning when I leave the house, its rarely entering the world without some feeling of anger or frustration. And if my day begins as so, there’s a greater chance, the day won’t seem as bright as it should or could be.
Hard to see the sun when the morning clouded over; and if my friends know my home situation well enough … well, getting berated for not getting a better job, a raise, more responsibility and my general incompetence to watch out for myself is generally how every morning begins for me, after breakfast if I’m lucky.
So yes, I do know.
I know how pissed off and begrudging I get when the new girl at work abandons our lunch plans at the last minute to ‘hang’ with the crowd after much cajoling on my part to get her to eat. Even after, I help her out with a small emergency the week before as she bitched about the other staff not helping – and later, not a word of courtesy to me. Its never really one small thing but many small things that lead up to it.
She may have a different story of course, but this is where I don’t care anymore.
Where I realize, to bother caring for excuses and reasons means I’m assuming we could be friends.
When really, there’s little chance of that.
Been that way at work for awhile already.
Perhaps it is me.
No, its me.
So in this perfect world of ours, everyone’s faultless for circumstances obviously out of their hands, yet we continue to bitch when no one else offers a hand in changing things we want to change.
I think I’ll just stay picky about who I like as friends.
I choose not to pretend.
---