Suspicions of Confusion

But you're so afraid to say something about it that you stumble all over yourself.

Then they are so scared of you noticing them that they deny it.

This is what its like in my head.

  You can feel its black eyes on you can't you? You can feel it, right? You can't...? But he's right there! I mean... I can't see him either... But he's right there. Can't you tell? Why can't you tell? Is it... No. Its not just me. Its them. It was always them. They were watching. No. No that's silly. Why would he watch you? He doesn't even care. Its okay. It doesn't hurt anymore. Knowing he doesn't care. It did once, but now it doesn't. That's just how it is. That's sweet. Really that's sweet, but shut up. We aren't friends for that.

Huh? I don't think I was listening. Never mind. I was totally listening. I just thought you were better than that. Its distracting. How terrible you are. Sorry was that mean? It needed to be. It had to be. You just don't understand it. 

Remember that time? That really good time? Do you remember why you don't remember? Now you do. Now you remember why you never remember. Its okay. You'll forget again. I just thought you should remember right now. You needed to cry. Trust me. Its for the best that you break down sobbing. 

That guy over there. He's pretty cool right? He thinks your pretty cool too. Sorry. Sorry that was too good to pass up. I lied. I mean. He probably doesn't HATE you. But like... why would he like you? 

Most people shut it off with drugs. But you can't take those can you? No we both agree on that. Don't we? No no you're right. We don't agree. But they just don't make you feel any better do they? No, sorry, don't let me stop you drinking. Its adorable. You're adorable. The way you drink. And then you start desperately trying to be nice. 

So mister The Tumblr, you are an outlet. I'ma use you.

Normally in this mood I chat it up with friends. Tell them my feels, as it were, and look for compassionate support. My internet makes my friends inaccessible though. And... I feel like writing.

I know some people. They make art happen. I have always known people that make art happen. Every relationship, romantic or platonic, has been with people that make art happen. I'm attracted to them because they do cool things that I cannot do. I like to think they are attracted to me too, but, y'know, that's ego talking.

I find myself thinking about what I am, who I am, what I give, and what I do. What do I leave in the world? Artists leave their art. All it takes is one picture. One picture in the internet's void and you have made a mark.

See here's the thing. I don't do that. I don't write anymore either. So what is it I do? I talk. I think that's my impact now. My mark. And that is TERRIFYING to me. My impact in the world is on people. I've spent a large chunk of my life just wanting to... avoid impacting people. In any way. And now its all I am.

I am the impact I leave on people. And their lives. I talk and people hear it and it means something. Am I important? Am I worth it? To some people yeah. To people that work with me... well... sort of. I'm their boss. They have to hear me. They have to care when I say they did something right or wrong. It MEANS something when I tell them good job.

I spend a lot of time being sarcastic. Being... disingenuous. Usually for a laugh. And long ago I decided if I was gonna be serious I needed to be nice when I do it. If I say something real I say something nice.

If I have to be an impact I want to be good. I want to make you feel better. I want you to smile. Laugh. When we're done talking I want you to feel good about yourself. I want you to know how cool or talented you are.

That makes conversations weird sometimes. I feel like I come off as a flirt? I mean, sure, I compliment people I have romantic feelings towards... but I compliment most people. Maybe its my world view. Maybe its just me. If someone says something nice to me, aside from "You're funny," I think they want something.

Here's the point. I want to impact lives. Because its all I have to give. I want to make people feel good. Yet... I don't want people to know me. Or remember me. I touch lives. Often vulnerable lives. Should I?

Even a little thing can impact the right person. I give directions a lot. To most people its not a big deal. Even though it affects their next hour it doesn't affect them emotionally. Then some people... Some people you can see it in their eyes. Your help saved them from panic. From fear. Maybe they won't remember you forever. But for awhile? You saved them.

Bryan: You're my weirdness Barometer.