I was going to write, but I got distracted going to see the blogs of a few people who liked my previous post.
All interesting, all of them. In fact I got carried away and read more than I had time for. What got me down a little bit is that all of them didn’t really “like” what I wrote, perhaps they didn’t even read it? They probably did a search for tags and because their blog speaks about something relating to my tags, they thought I would be interested in THEM. Or they could just get more followers.
I have even, both in the context of WordPress and in the context of Facebook and Twitter, realised that many many people just want likes, or followers, they want to see their numbers rise. Just numbers. Everyone is a number to everyone else. Want audience, want numbers, want to not feel lonely in their posting? I don’t really know the reason behind it to be honest.
Whereas I can undertsand why that would appeal to someone who has a very lonely life and not many people paying attention to them, and I certainly understand it from those who are “selling” something (even if it’s just their own ego), I do not understand it from those who seem to have an incredibly successful and happy and full life. Who cares if the web “likes you”?
Anyway, I don’t, so I will only follow back or thank or like back something that I have had time to read and that I enjoyed, so sorry in advance if you didn’t get the what is known known as “blog etiquette”, “Facebook etiquette” or “twitter etiquette”. I know all about it, and couldn’t care less. Sorry.
I wanted to write about embracing my inner bitch. Wondering whether I should. Wodering whether it may be about time, and see what happens. Let’s face the music and dance, sort of thing.
I have spent my whole life trying to learn a language, speak the lingo, relate, be accepted, be understood, not be shouted at, teaching partners to get the best out of me and not the worst, and in the end what do I get? Exactly what I always got: ah yes we love you, but you get heavy after a while. Boy you’re too intense. Why does everything matter so much to you? Just calm down, and take it easy. Count to ten before you speak. And so on and so forth.
What has made it especially tiring and soul wrenching for me throughout all these years, is that every single person that cares enough for me to talk about “it” (where, by “it”, I basically mean my basic bitchiness that gets in the way of me being such a pretty little likeable sweet happy person), talks to me like they have got a new insight, a new idea. And most of the time I follow and believe and hope Yes! this is the clue to a happy productive and less bitchy life.
Also a cause for great grief, is when I get accused of being uncaring, or selfish. Admittedly most accusers take it back in the end, but it is sooo frustrating. All I do, everything I try everyday, is all for you. It would have been nice to know someone, be me, remain me, and remain loved. It has happened sometimes, mostly with a few very special friends who, fortunately for both of us involved, I don’t live with and therefore we can still love each other from afar without putting our hands to our throats.
But the fact is, time goes by. I am so very happy with some of the things I am doing but not so happy with others. I have spent all my people-conscious life trying to please and then lashing out, and now I am kind of tired. Of explaining myself, of trying to be different following the appropriate “channels” in which I need to be different. I hate it when people dislike me. I hate the look I get from those who are stunned to see that their sunshine girl is acting like bitch from hell, not always in ways that I can understand. Really, really tired.
So perhaps I will stop explaining even more. Perhaps I will just embrace the bitch, and see what happens. Unfortunately I know what happens. I know I end up regretting my behaviour enormously, causing grief and trouble I would much rather have avoided, for myself as well as for others. But perhaps at forty I should just be who I am, and live with it.