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Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts

Sunday, March 29

Who pays the toll of the confounding [f]actor's role in a role-weary incompetent or insane subject?


Somewhat - 

Alright, « okay » like, I really needed that (most times), or, like, people really [don't] bother to conceal their formants, and self-such character-isms of speech and poise, but I don't really get the lack of sociable attainment, the thing about "just getting it done," 

Rather,

There's this vast contingency of avoidant (I'd forgotten about that one [of abnormal psychology]; the avoidant, the passive-aggressive, the decades gone on, in lacking sobriety and 12 Steps fundamentals, as life. People really do live their lives off of the 12 Steps, when they're in the supportive arms of truly good-meaning sober individuals - I've always self-managed my drug abstinence, because I have a hard time speaking with strangers, and some aspects along those lines. 

For that matter, it feels like you guys are abusing the child of my life-in-suspension - I used to pull Tarot cards for this type of thing. But that was years ago.

Then, I became a person who simply never does the thing that is so characteristically immature, and short-sighted. I did the most menial of digital life-styling reputational upkeep, in cases where I had done others wrong (undoubtedly while in the midst of a manic spree on life; by all means, un-sober): I went back and apologized to the person - digitally, at that, since it was my digital Life up for self-criticism, and for matters of integrity of my self.

The point being, is that, all-in-all, I did do those things, and I could move forth in life flinching with the sour memory of those things lingering - nonewhatsoever. 

Okay, there is this guy, and one other guy, I owe them each about $40-$45. Eek. That's literal money I owe, to leverage my business ethics statistical "perfect," otherwise.

But some of you guys (and ladies) - sheez, ... I guess maybe you guys (and ladies) perhaps never made it out past suburbia; whereas [I seem to have recognized destitute and laboring] {some guys} I've seemed to recognize, out in the open wild, while I'd been "trekking," and how natural the interactions were - just in passing; just maybe, it was "them."

Those kinds of guys don't have this passive-avoidant histrionic persona that pops in to my mind, and acquisitions some arbitration or leverage about my wherewithal and my going-for-show-pigeons better pedigreed self.

On one hand, there's the notion of replicable personae-identities, yet who would be comfortable knowing that I simply « believe » these horrible things about people? Some people.

Some people who don't really do Facebook « well, or properly ». And then, there's this whole thing about speaking in to the phone's speaker {thing} and the expectation that the audio clip-bytes reach me?

 On one hand, I can concede that this is about as "crazy" as I'd come off, given my willingness to « once again » relate the long-windedness and intricacies of a schizotypal personality disorder, such that I have; whereas most people claim that they don't hear voices, whatsoever. 

That's it, though. That's the limit of how « actually » crazy I look; it costs me a blog of relevant content, somewhat, to digress, again, in to abnormal psychology, once again, yet here it be, plain and simple - I'm 38 years old now, so's most people involved, or better (or lesser of consequence, for being third-person removed) - most perhaps-so. The opposing face-to-face second person disposition is truly a rare one, but I do sometimes speak at long-winded lengths about formative aspects of all expected contextual realities and foundational underpinnings, which lead to critical analysis of the "other" person, at hand, but that's not to say that many people who encounter me don't actually mean me harm, given a turn-of-my-back to them. They do, and I realize these things, even as they trouble me.

------------

Then, I inevitably get some web-crawler "bot" hits, after publishing the post to social media, and oftentimes, a colloquy ensues. But I'm moreso that I'd just rather be done, and done with the issue. I could do coffee, at a coffee shop, and forget about it, over a sweet one.

My blog stats - minutes after posting the blog and sharing it to social media.


It could even be a home-spun drink, in a recyclable bottle - but these types of sociable accommodations just fail to get done.

What im im see, here, though, is an imminent troll-of-all-web internet activity, for lack of a better term, in the all-hours readiness to check out my latest blog, type of thing - which could only be « somewhat » okay. The thing of the internet of all hours "thing" is a tired subject - I'm commonly neurotically fraught with the consequences of having done a night of the internet of all hours "thing," and the cost of repairing that deed, with ionic minerals, with medications, with attending personnel and professionals about my mental health patient status, not to mention my social worker - these are all tolls of being improprietuous of what ends up being "for my sake," in which case I have to answer for my [obvious] shortcomings.

The desire to shield one's identity behind remote sensing technology is a dark, loaded vehicle, carrying the impetus of the person's wherewithal that could have been - for having jaunted a fresh, new, identity through stimulant abuse that many find so compelling; yet many also fail to remit a sustainable [or any some-such] contribution to society, whether it be digital or real-life. For that matter, I find that my schuzotypal self commonly lends it's nature to a more familiar term, in that I perceive it as an augmented reality - one where a person's reputation could « precede » their physical presence. Sometimes the voice {conscience} hanging over the shoulder of the guilty is a partner-in-arms, with the self of such person. 

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