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.
September 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
That we never lived prevents me from killing us. That I have nothing of Herself prevents me from getting rid of it. I create the conflicts, pick the fights. Absent foes, I am stuffing pillowcase effigies to stab until the peanuts run out, killing nothing, dissipating no anger–solving nothing. I am nothing more than frustrated with narcissism: I can’t enjoy it. I haven’t given myself permission to embrace the things I love and get rid of what I don’t need, instead of whingeing about how I can’t shake her, when I know I don’t want to. Why would I want to? As I fight myself, she has become more real, more human. That’s what I want, but I’m too used to self-pity. I’ll be done flagellating when I’m down to a cat-o-two-tails. I wanted to show her what I loved. I couldn’t, and I judged those things useless. If I couldn’t read, watch or listen to something because she does or might like it, then why have it? Because I still like it, and if she comes attached to it, I have to like her, too. Why fight that? The only bad memories I had were of my self-rue-ination. Head or heart: Which played the bigger trick on the other?
February 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
Vanity without confidence–How could I have liked myself? I have the confidence (some of it) back, and am not quite so ashamed of my vanity as I used to be. I feel good when I feel I look good. I’m not afraid of a mirror jumping out at me. Somewhere, someplace real or otherwise, my body is reserved for gods. Right now, that place is only in my mind. (I have to start somewhere.) Attraction starts with oneself. It’s only narcissism if one doesn’t share it. Confidence is what I want, what I want to show. Confidence always shows. So does arrogance, but I hope I have essentially grown out of that. I don’t exactly think I’m hot, but I wouldn’t question an attraction to me. What, me choosy? Sometimes I laugh in the middle of my toilette thinking of the care I take to reach my higher standard of pulchritude. All I ask is that someone appreciates the results. At least, that’s me.
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.