Narcissit? Who me?

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I refuse to be taken seriously!

I occurred to me today that I don't do anything in a serious manner. Everything I do is a joke, performed, for the most part, to an audience of one. Myself. I am constantly doing things to entertain myself, to make myself smile, and to please the child inside of me. These are small little things that I do throughout the day, maybe unnoticeable to others, but I do them to avoid being serious. If I am writing a paper, maybe I wear a hat, a funny hat. If I am at work, I use different voices. If I have to go and get something, I skip. I realised today, perhaps these little personality quirks are what keeps me from becoming a functional member of society, as well as keeping any one else from taking me serious.

It was recently when Roommate and I went to wash his car that I had to sudden epiphany. Roommate was washing the car, with one of those power nozzle thingys, and he had soap, and wax, and everything just a flowin'. I was entertained, because who doesn't love a car wash! I prefer the ones with the spinney things that wash the car for you. I like to think it is a giant blue monster that cleans cars as a type of community service. Roommate like the ones you do yourself, a label I avoid in every possible situation. It was the look on his face as he washed his car that stuck me. He was so focused, and serious, and involved with his task, that he wasn't even goofing off. He just washed the car. If I washed the car, I would be out there making funny faces, spraying the window they were looking out of. I would dance, and probably sing the few lines of "Car Wash" that I knew. I would fiddle with the hose, and make a complete idiot of myself, for the benefit of my passenger, and for everyone else in ear shot.

Roommate didn't do any of this. He simply washed the car. Me, I had fiddled with anything he had in his car. Batted at his key chain, went through his mail, his trash, and reclined my seat to various positions. Then I put my hood up, put on his sunglasses and posed in the little mirror in the sun visor for 5 minutes. When I tired of that I made faces out the window at him. He tired of this before I did. And I though of how different we were. If someone made faces at me out of a car window, I would be entranced for hours. Caught in a face-making competition with who ever it was, until they quit. In this respect I am like a baby. Roommate,however, just smiled at me and returned to his task. This is something that seems to dampen my ability to be taken seriously. If someone starts to talk to me while I am doing something I forget about it completely. I am easily distracted so I am not really cut out for a lot of stuff, say like, working. In every job I had, I am always more interested in what other people are doingor saying, or what the birds outside are thinking, or what I am getting for Christmas, than what I am supposed to be doing. That is why I really hope I find someone who can support me financially, as well as make faces at for hours.

As far as being taken seriously goes, I'm not. If I am ever angry or upset, I usually receive a pat on the head, a punch on the shoulder, a "suck it up", or I am scolded for being over dramatic. Usually my brother tells me I have nothing in this world to worry about, and then launches in a three hour discussion about how much worse off he is, in every way possible. What really amazes me about this is he can still seem superior to me during and after these conversations take place.

Lately I have been going through a funk, where I don't like to get out of bed before 11, and am completely unmotivated, and have completely isolated myself from everyone. Even then I don't take myself too seriously. I eat things in excess, listen to sappy music and I lounge about in the stereotypical woe-is-me ensemble: old t-shirts, giant sweaters, pants with draw strings. It is like I am in a Bridget Jones movie, paused at the part where she is heart broken, and stays in her flat until she becomes empowered. Only in my case, I am not British, so therefore the whole ordeal is much less classy, and I am neither heartbroken, or in need of empowerment. In conclusion it means that even in the depths of depression, I am still performing for myself, entertaining myself like I am a character in a movie.

Maybe this means I have some sort of strange disorder, a ADD or ADHD, or crazy-disease, or maybe I just don't have a serious side. Or maybe I never got enough attenti....

Kittens sure are cute aren't they?

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