A Measured Response.

A foreigner doesn't like me, and that's ok.

I'm not going to lie, it stings, but I chose an open forum so that's how it works. I could delete it, but I'd still know. It wouldn't hurt any less.

Criticism is hard for me to take from anybody, much less a stranger who only knows what I say here. I say a lot of things that are ridiculous. It's deliberate. Every stupid, petty, immature, self-destructive, nonsensical, angry, bitter, sad, funny, silly, happy, grateful, smart, wonderful, honest, unique thought in my head is allowed to come out here, most of the time.

ReadBecca began so I could say what I want, whenever I want. Because you're not supposed to do that in real life, and I really, really want to, all the time, whether or not it's a good idea, and I have suffered the consequences too many times. I have to work on that. I thought this would help. I say "I" when I write because this place is mine. I try to avoid "you."

What I say here, it doesn't always have to mean anything. I never tried to hide that it's mostly vanity and crap. I know I don't always make myself look great, but that's ok. I'm not worried about looking like an idiot. Every time you think I'm an awful, pointless dilettante please go back and read "Adios, Grandpa Tex." That's real. That's something I'm proud of. "I hate my job," that you can pretty much ignore.

What really worries me is that people who find their way here won't get it. I want people to be in on the joke that I know that I'm creating my own chaos. I also know I'm the only one who can get me out of it, and I'm trying to do just that. I'm struggling to get to a good, real, happy place and it's hard. I want to have a job I love, a solid romantic relationship, and loyal friends I can trust. That's not different from anybody else. I just hoped I was telling the story a bit differently.

It's meant to be me, through a filter, so it's not me. I wrote this paper once on the different styles of autobiography and the poetry of Seamus Heaney and what I am trying to say now is the same thing I tried to say then and doing just about the same poor job of it. Basically, it's impossible to give a true and accurate report of yourself. You can't see yourself that way because you have a filter of how you would like to be, not how you really are. People can't see you through your filter, only their own. I'm just trying to provide vision correction so the filters are closer to the same.

Right now, I'm more upset that I feel compelled to explain the motive because that means I'm not doing it right. I wish I could just let it slide. I'd like to be all, "That's cool. It doesn't affect me." Except it does. It bothers me that I didn't say it right. That a stranger didn't see me the way I meant to present myself. Does it say anything about me that I take all the responsibility? That I don't think it was some flaw in a foreigner's filter that made him miss my point? Does it say anything that I've been thinking and writing and editing these few, small paragraphs for over three hours trying to get it right? To not react with outrage or hurt or smugness, dismissiveness or contempt? To rationally listen to the comments of someone I don't know who most likely isn't concerned about what's best for me and probably wasn't trying to help? And to be objective and to take something away from it that is in my best interest? All at the same time trying not to make it into more than it really is or misconstrue the intent, which I can't possibly know anyway?

I don't know what it says to you. It's just a blog. I like to write stuff on it. I hope people are entertained when and if they read it, and I hope it helps me figure out all the questions I have and how I can be better. That's about it.

I'm supremely irritated at myself right now for talking all about my feelings and turning this into an After School Special instead of coming up with a comeback that would have made Johnathan Swift cry.