Neanderpundit

G: I liked your post about xxxx
me: That’s nice.
G: you dont accept praise well
me: I don’t do this to please other people. I do it to please me.

I have for a very long time been whole and integrated. I don’t need anyones approval for anything, and I don’t seek anyone’s approval. I know that the work that I do (as in my day job) is beyond reproach, and so do the people I work with. I write because if I didn’t write, if I didn’t have this outlet, I’d probably be nuttier than squirrel shit.

It’s nice when people read. I like when people comment. I am happy when I can make people think, happiest when I can make people laugh. But I don’t aim for this, these things are all by products of me letting the voices out of my head.

I like to write because as I do, I sharpen the skills, and maybe I’ll eventually be able to do something that will make me some money- but this is not my particular aim.

In this, as in everything, I seek no approval and require none. Still. To those of you who keep coming, and keep commenting,

thanks.

Joanna posts about truth, and i have to agree.

I have always been unceasingly self reflective; I know every bad thing about myself, and though I don’t necesarily dwell on those things, I am constantly aware of my failings. I have made a point, in my lifetime, of never looking away from the distasteful in the world, and that holds true for the distasteful in my life as well. I don’t ever close my eyes.

There’s a lot of mental illness tied to that relentless sort of introspection, and I’m not always sure I’ve escaped it. I also see the stupidity in political games both public and personal that most people never see, and it has destroyed my patience for assholes.

I have a few people I deal with constantly who will simply not be honest with me, and it drives me nuts. I know precisely what their motivations are and only wish they could choke back the bullshit once in a while and be honest with me. I doubt they ever will.

Anyway, I never lie to myself, as I can help it. I have always deflected the criticism and sarcasm of others by being more critical of and sarcastic about myself than other people are capable of.
“You’re fat!”
“yeah, well, at least I’m ugly too. And you should see the size of my gut when I lose the belt!”
Most people turn away in disgust. You can’t slam me more than I can slam myself.

But I’m at peace with who I am. And who I am is fine by me, warts and all.

Which I scratched till it bled, has finally healed well enough I don’t think it will perforate my cheek and allow me to smoke through the side of my face.

Still itches like a mother, though.

In a plant where there’s some serious labor issues. Will have to be careful, have been through this rodeo before, and death threats and slashed tires were not uncommon. I’m not amused, but I’m not afraid. It usually means new tires, and once these ijits understand that I can jam a screwdriver in an eye and go home and sleep like a baby, nobody will mess with me. Still no fun to have to play stupid political games. I’d rather be actually doing something than babysitting