We begin day two of Sally’s banishment from social media and here in Fuppyville the majority remain unaware and uncaring. Unlike the rest of us, the ravages of Covid have had little effect on the FUPs. They remain somewhat grateful of the routine and normalcy; conditions they seemingly take for granted but, by their own deeds and being, richly deserve. For me, as I continue my search for constancy, I am grateful for theirs. Can they be disruptive? Certainly. Aggravating? Hell, yes! Predictable? Ever more so with each passing day. Yet here I sit on an early Saturday morning, against a backdrop of uncertainty and confusion, penning their praise. Why is that?
It is no secret that if given the choice, I prefer a level of being social that borders on anonymity. As circumstances dictate, I can flip the switch and engage sincerely and with interest, to a yet undefined range of individuals and their accompanying traits, beliefs, and backgrounds. However, I prefer one on one, or limited company, and despite my contrarian ways, pass little judgement. In the instances I do, it is rarely of note or consequence.
I have difficulty understanding myself and, my methods, often direct, do not translate well across common mediums of today. Emails, texts, random posts, or photos even, are many times misconstrued. Flippancy, whether used as a means of deflection or for levity, is best reserved for in person occasions, where the nuances associated with personal interaction, can be readily observed, gauged, and accounted for. I genuinely regret instances of hurting another. Most often it is not by intent. Yet, I will do so again since the culmination of who I am, my methods and my manners, continue to define me. Attempting to maintain the brighter side of even the darkest of moments is not necessarily a rule to live by.
Overall, I believe I have done more good than harm. I think that most everyone likely feels this way. So, these exercises of mine; these occasional drifts into a cloud of self-reflection that are the root of these words to paper, are an attempt at speaking aloud that which I cannot confront on my own. I do so cryptically not as a matter of self-defense but out of the fear of self-realization of the many times I have failed, and the consequences wrought. These writings, these exorcises, are good for me, I think. I can only hope.
Over the past many years, I have by choice not closed myself to any but similarly, have opened myself to very few; less than a handful I would think. I cannot recall more. If pressed, I doubt it to be more than three. Most likely two. These people know me for my best and have a keen sense of my worst. It is a good thing to have those that know you for your best. It is damning to have too many that know you for your worst.
So, in some ways my methods of expression, as is this, make sense if for no other reason than they allow for me to combat the many regrets I have without revealing more. In the process, providing a momentary sense of comfort that I most often find by virtue of simply having a dog.
Feel the Burg 