‘Judgy-wudgy was a bear’

Alternate title: Catty whore or the only person in the world with a lick of sense?

Today is one of those days in which I am struggling to not only be a good person, but to act like one too.

When I turn against someone, I am through with them. Done. Dead. Fini. Fuck off. Don’t talk to me, don’t breathe my air, don’t think you can even come near me. You were given your chance and you blew it. I’ve given more second chances than Paris Hilton gives blowjobs.

Sometimes this way of thinking is irrational, I admit. But I can tell when I’ve met someone in a past life — even someone I’ve barely exchanged two words with — and I know right away whether we’re going to be best friends or sworn enemies. My soul is uneasy around people in stores or on Metro cars, and I can’t explain why it just feels wrong to be near them. Whether it’s the psychic or the schizophrenic in me, I just know.

And sometimes, I force the choice either way when I know it’s wrong. All that does is remind me how spot-on my intuition is. I’ve gritted my teeth and kissed the ass of some, while embracing others with my arms and my whole heart and never looked back. I’ve been to job interviews and even took jobs I knew would be horrid; I picked the one I have now because it just FELT right.

Have I ever been wrong before? Not really. But would I ever admit it otherwise? 😉

I called my best friend the other day to thank her, because without her, my life would have been SO different. And not in a good way. Or maybe it would have turned out the same, with one less amazing person in it. But I doubt that — she kicked me in the ass and loved me unconditionally, and the balance did wonders for my inner, and outer, strength.

It was one of those friendships in which we just “knew” — I guess kind of like when people fall in love, they just KNOW that this is their soulmate. I’ve always believed in multiple soulmates, as I believe you can have many loves of your life — just different degrees and forms that are as diverse as the people who are worthy of it.

Then there are the people who it feels like they’re bruising your soul whenever you hear their voice.

I tend to pride myself that, throughout life, I’ve rarely allowed myself to be influenced by anyone. Sure, I’ve grudgingly cooperated with people like in past instances of “Workplace Survivor” and formed alliances that were meant to ensure my safety. There’s a lot to be said for keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.

To my credit, I question myself with everything. I don’t make a single decision that hasn’t been exhaustively weighed. I’ve supervised people who cried in my presence when I disciplined them and never felt an iota of sympathy. Empathy, maybe — we all hate to be told that we did something wrong — but if I don’t think highly of you, I will never shed a tear for you. But if I love you, then we need to go buy stock in Kimberly-Clark because we will be sobbing together!

A friend of mine put it well when she threw away a food gift for Christmas from someone she abhors — you just don’t break bread with the enemy.

I don’t know. I type all of this to try to reason through some genuine perplexity at a physical reaction I seem to have to a couple of people. One causes a nervous eye tic — my right eye twitches when I so much as hear the name. The funny part is that when my right eye twitches, a friend’s left eye twitches when that person’s name enters the discussion. Too funny!

The other, the mere voice rakes over my soul. I don’t know how else to put it. I am wondering whether I’m the only one with any sense or the only one WITHOUT any. In the long run, my opinion doesn’t matter and I don’t want to make it public, anyway. But the part of me that is so fiercely protective of my cubs wants to growl and swipe and threaten.

What a weird moment I’m having right now.

I think it all comes back to those I might have trusted who turned out to be a lot of adjectives, but not “trustworthy.” Or all those with whom I was forced to play nice, and for what? Where are they now, and was it even worth it?

I don’t want to be “that girl.” I don’t want to be catty, bitchy or two-faced. Hell, I WANT to be surprised. I don’t mind being proven wrong.

I guess it’s like in dating, where one person’s trash is another’s treasure. I’ve been both, I guess, and I’ve had both. But I don’t think I’ve ever walked away from a potential gem — I am the type to whittle away at that lump of coal until the thing is either destroyed or a diamond is formed. And I’ve also gotten to the bottom of the Tootsie pop to find that there was no chewy center after all — there was just a void.

I try hard to think what has, and/or what would have, happened when someone misjudged me. But I don’t need anyone to like me — respect, yes, but like, no. I like me just fine and anyone who’s dumb enough not to, well, isn’t worth my time.

It’s interesting how we come to feel the way we do about others, whether it’s based on logic, perception, experience, direct interaction, rumor or intuition. I always think I give more chances than are necessary, but when I don’t give but one, as I believe that’s all it should take, I feel guilty that I can’t bring myself to give more.

I guess I bring it back to dating again, when your guy’s (or gal’s!) best friend or brother is a complete and total moron. Are you the voice of reason or are you just “the bitch who never has anything nice to say”?

More importantly, can we live without saying, “I told you so,” if in fact we’re proven right, and can we say, “I was wrong” if we aren’t?

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