September 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Did you ever call a peacock narcissistic? mutter “Creep!” as you showed your back to him? There is no difference between narcissism and the mating dance. He’s got to be seen or, one less species to ward. If the aloof loner gets all the action (and, believe me, he doesn’t) then we’re making for a wussy society. If the hen ignores the cock, she has her reasons–is she less than impressed with his display, doesn’t understand his dance, or just plain doesn’t notice–whose loss is it? My feathers were camo to Herself. I still don’t know what could have gotten her attention. Why I didn’t move on to the next hen, I know too well. I have been called a creep, and it hurts. And it hurts to hear other men described that way. Men who were, to the woman so naming them, simply out of their league; who are doing what society and women expect them to do without instruction. Who the hell knows what dance to dance or what feathers to wear? Under these circumstances, it’s a cinch to fail and unfair to be judged. That man is a creep because you are afraid of him. He is what you have made him. He doesn’t stand a chance.
February 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
There was much doubt. Little of it was mine. I knew I would write my way out of this. The concern was touching, but I was never going to talk to a professional about it. Only friends would do. I told Herself once that the blog was my best friend. It was a moment of glib pathos, but it was not far off the mark. Mine was the only advice or judgement I could accept in good conscience, too. I would still rather have talked to someone, but I didn’t know who to trust. So I trusted the world wide web to find me someone. I pled my case. I talked it out. I talked to one too many persons. Doesn’t matter. One thing I trusted was that I was doing the right thing. I still do trust that, but for different reasons. Then, it was the right to express myself. Now, it’s gratitude for the experience, the opportunity to grow. I am emotionally intact, if not satisfied. I’m sure that’s normal.
January 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
Narcissism is allowed. It’s the easiest start to learning to love myself and get comfortable with me. I like all the same books and music, but I don’t always get me, though no one knows me better. I can be frustrated and angered, but I try to understand and to reserve judgment, though I don’t come from that position of infinite hope asserted to be vital to the endeavor. I care for me, though, and better than I ever used to. Pampering is less the guilty pleasure than the occasional necessity. Why ask it of someone else when I can give it to myself? I deserve it, and who knows it better? If anyone else could do it for me, I would have to show them how. Before that time comes, I will have to become an expert.