Aimed at No One

“A layover in Boston, this is a town I used to know

feels like a lifetime, it wasn’t that long ago

now I’m smoking a cigarette as I wait for my train

scanning the faces for something of me that remains

The path of least resistance is different for each of us

you’ll always stay and I’ll always go

and while I’m tilting at windmills and rushing at lights

you are building a life of your own

And it’s all right, it’s just that sometimes my life

is a puzzle that never connects

all that I know when it’s time to go

is there’s something I haven’t found yet

We do our best to do what we must

but we never mark time like time marks us

maybe I’m weak, maybe I’m brave

I couldn’t say if I’m running to something

or if I’m just running away

I don’t know where it is, if it even exists

that place that I really call home

all that I know is it’s time to go

and I don’t mind going alone

I don’t know what shifts, what clicks,

what makes me go fuck this, I’m gone

A layover in Boston, this is a town I used to know

feels like a lifetime, it wasn’t that long ago

now I’m smoking a cigarette as I wait for my train

scanning the faces for something of me that remains.”

— Jodi Sheeler, “Boston” —

While I still like her song “No Regrets” better, this kinda infiltrated my head this morning. I need to buy this CD. 🙂 Now!!!

Disclaimer: The following rant is aimed at no one, or maybe it’s aimed at everyone. I don’t know. The problem with being an online diarist means that I am my own censor, and I don’t rant nearly half as intricately or brilliantly as I used to. I would fill up volumes upon volumes, agonizing over minutiae, beating the dead horse till it was a bottle of glue. But I always felt better then — I always said my peace, even if it were only between me and my spiral-bound, hardcover journals. I could resolve my sadness, my strife, my hostility and my counfoundedness simply by writing about it.

At any rate, today’s rant is courtesy of Expectations — of friends, family, people I date, colleagues, etc. People have high expectations of me, and they always have. And I would have it no other way, because when I act like a goofball, I have no doubt that someone will call me on it — and in keeping with the theme, well, I would EXPECT nothing less. Personally, I am not the most politically correct or grown-up individual who ever walked this earth, nor will I ever claim to be — and frankly, nor do I really want to be. But because I hold myself to a higher standard than most, well, I tend to hold everyone else to a similar standard.

Granted, over the years, I’ve learned to hold people to different standards. When I supervised Incoherent Twit, those standards plummeted into the swamp, because she was HRP’s useless godchild and I could never tame her freakish ass, anyway. But for the people whom I choose to have in my life, I get angry over the little things. But I know this is wrong, and I don’t know how to change that. I really don’t pop a cork over huge issues — I simply jump in and fix things. I am the ultimate Mommy in the theoretical sense — I’ll clean up your cuts, bandage them and kiss them to make them all better. Crisis management is my artwork, and wounded people are my canvases.

I guess I am exhausted physically and emotionally, because I am so damned dependable that people just take that for granted. I can bitch till the ends of the earth that I expect (insert certain behavior), but I have this problem that when shit doesn’t get done, I will do it. That can go for taking out the trash or it can go for standing up for what’s right in an unfair scenario or it can go for answering a late-night panic call from me. I don’t want people to perform miracles, and I don’t want them to do anything I myself wouldn’t do. But I also don’t want to be the casualty because of something they knew they had to do but didn’t. I don’t want to have a kitchen full of cockroaches or a job full of aggravation when steps can and must be taken to prevent those situations. There is always a course of action — like my Mom says, “Do something, even if it’s wrong.” I take that to mean that it’s futile to be inert, passive or oblivious, because you can either make an excuse or you can make a change, and which would you rather be remembered for?

And the thing is, not only are my expectations reasonable, but damn it, I don’t hang around with morons. The people in my life are perfectly capable of excellence, and I’d like to see them achieve it. But it’s got to start somewhere, y’know?

I love everyone in my life, but god damn it, there are days when I just want to line them all up and fan-kick (fanny-kick?) their asses like a Radio City Rockette. And it seems like many of these folks take my remarks or actions very personally when that was never my intent. I guess it comes from having been a supervisor for many years — I can’t do everyone else’s functions (home, family, friends, work, etc.) when I have a job of my own to do and expectations of my own to meet. And sometimes I wonder if these same people are hearing me perfectly well but are simply ignoring me, hoping I’ll shut up and go away and just do myself what it is that I desire for them to do.

But one of the golden rules of management is to criticize the behavior, not the person. Sure, Incoherent Twit was a complete oxygen thief, but I could only discipline her for the dumb shit she did to make my life hell. Similarly, just because I am itching to turn you over my knee and slap you on the ass doesn’t mean that I am disappointed in you — just your actions. Oftentimes people expect praise for doing nothing or contributing one minor thing to the cause, when that is not the definition of teamwork — at least, not for any team that I want to be on. In a recent post, I said I believe each person brings 100 percent to the romantic relationship — not 50/50. Likewise, in a team effort, three people don’t each give 33.3 percent (or sliding-scale variations thereof) — they all give 100 percent, and that, my friends, makes your team stand out above all the rest.

That takes me to the scenario of when folks might just meet one or two of my expectations, once or twice. And then they are happy to have me off of their backs for awhile, and they just don’t get it that one-trick ponies do not impress me. And never will. Moreover, I hate to nag. If I wanted to be a mommy, I’d squirt out some freckle-faced munchkins and hop my ass onto the welfare payroll post-haste. And I have learned to spot the art of double-talk — because I have expertise in it myself. I know when people are trying to distract me and make me forget why I was so hopping mad in the first place. I know that Maddie likes to distract me when she has pooped on my blue bathroom rug — similarly, I know that when I’m about to blow a gasket, people know to dangle something shiny and more interesting before my eyes, because I switch gears really easily. Maddie knows that if she nuzzles up to me and plays with me before I walk into the shitpile in the bathroom, I’ll go a bit easier on her (and only give her two treats instead of four). That’s always been my worst point — rewarding negative behavior. No more treats, damn it!!! No more treats for bad little kitties. 🙂

At any rate, I don’t know what shifts, what clicks, what makes me go fuck this, I’m gone, as said in the above song. Rather, I don’t know what doesn’t make me do that, either. This year, I’ve resolved to look out for me, but I am going to become even more egocentric and self-absorbed than ever. I am not going to do what I do to set an example, but rather, to get me through the day. I meant what I said as part of my New Year’s resolutions — No Looking Back. I want to be happy with the person I see in the mirror, and I want to go to sleep every night, knowing that I lived that day the way I wanted to live it. I resolve to never drag people along or beg them to learn from my example — I will, however, hold their hands for as long as they need, but sometimes, I’ve got to pull my hands away and do the damn dishes, too, or they’ll pile up to the ceiling. Of course, Mom has thrown away even more plates since my stay in Pittsburgh. Maybe she’s on to something — instead of cleaning up after everyone and wiping everyone’s ass, fuck it — let them eat cake, out of their own hands. Save her the mess and the aggravation of being everyone’s maid. 🙂

And I didn’t even begin to talk about my expectations of people I am dating/fucking. 🙂 But in summary, everybody orgasms or it’s not fair play (or foreplay, come to think of it). And please make plans with me on or before a Wednesday for a weekend date — I do have friends, you know, who will take me out when you would rather sit on your hands and wait. And never, ever give up a night with your own friends because let’s face it, they will be around long after I’m gone, most likely. Pay for my dinner, but at least thank me when I offer to cover my half (and if you don’t pay for my half on the first date, there will be no second date. Trust me on that — it’s an issue of manners, not finances, and I never order anything more expensive than you yourself are eating, either, so keep that in mind!). Don’t expect sex, and you will get it. I promise! And don’t just give a lick and expect for it to be your turn. Nope. Give bountily and you shall receive accordingly. Amen.

I decided to write a dating book (when/if I ever get somebody stable in my life, proving that I’ve finally gotten the formula right). It’s going to be called “Step Up” — i.e., if you’re man (or woman) enough to handle me, then step up to the plate and show me what you’ve got. No, I’m not talking about the biggest cock (or dildo) or wallet — I’m talking about proving your mettle. Why should I have you in my life (and in my bed)? At any rate, once I find someone worthy, I will write about what s/he did to capture my heart and my interest.

In the meantime, I feel fucking GREAT after writing this diatribe!!! I am going to go dust the snow off my car and hit the Dollar Store, in my own honor, as a reward! 🙂

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