Nobody needs sycophants.
They can be good for the ego, no doubt, and I suppose to many people the sensation that people actually care what you're thinking or feeling is a crucial elevator for a sense of self worth.
I'm not one of those people.
Do I want people to hang on my every word and fawn over me, heaping praise upon my literary stylings? No.
Well, okay, that's bold-faced lie - I'm a fucking writer, so of course I do. But, and it's a big but, for completely different reasons that many people who publish their thoughts and words.
For me words are art. They're not a release, they're not an examination of the depths of my soul, they're not my attempt to share my innermost essence with the universe - they're art. Narrative stylings, carefully chosen words, looped together to convey a sense, state and feeling.
Art requires an audience. Fuck anyone who tells you otherwise, no really - tell them to fuck right off, not only are they wrong, they're just plain lying to you (or they're stupid, and who has time for stupid people or liars?)
Now, does that mean I don't want people to be supportive and empathetic towards me? Of course not. I want fwends just as much as the next person - I'm just far pickier about who I can be friends with, there are so many deal breakers in my books that it takes a rare bird and even then it seems they inevitably, to continue the metaphor, fly away.
Since my ex and I split up I've been filing my time with a variety of different tasks and activities - none of them seem to be developing any level of emotional connection or attachment to another human being, in fact quite the contrary. I think I'm actually broken and scared of the notion.
I can tell you, with absolute certainty, what the framework for each and every day of my life has looked like for the last while:
1> Wake up
2> Make bed
3> Eat breakfast <Mandatory Cat-Petting>
4> Do morning bathroom ritual
5> Goto work
6> Go for morning coffee
7> Skip lunch
8> Go for afternoon coffee
9> Leave work early due to skipping lunch
10> Come home and realize there are 6 hours to kill
11> Watch a couple of PVR'd shows
12> 50/50 chance of eating or skipping dinner
13> Mandatory Cat-Maintenance Session
14> 50/50 chance of checking to see what my Ex has been posting
15> ^ Follow-up, either spend the rest of the night angry and/or annoyed, or waste time on Facebook til it's time to sleep
It's a fucking exciting ritual, I can't wait to start working on the novelization of it. I'm thinking, possible, a romantic comedy staring Ryan Reynolds as me, though if that casting choice does happen I'll have to work a gory suicide into the screen play - I hate Ryan Reynolds.
Now I did say that's the framework, I do slot other activities in as they present themselves. I'm trying to make time to socialize with people, though given the number of social relationships that have crumbled or vanished for me in the last 6 months I'm a little gun-shy there.
I'm also getting exceptionally good at putting together Grooveshark playlists. I slapped one together yesterday that is comprised of industrial covers of rock and/or pop songs.
They can be good for the ego, no doubt, and I suppose to many people the sensation that people actually care what you're thinking or feeling is a crucial elevator for a sense of self worth.
I'm not one of those people.
Do I want people to hang on my every word and fawn over me, heaping praise upon my literary stylings? No.
Well, okay, that's bold-faced lie - I'm a fucking writer, so of course I do. But, and it's a big but, for completely different reasons that many people who publish their thoughts and words.
For me words are art. They're not a release, they're not an examination of the depths of my soul, they're not my attempt to share my innermost essence with the universe - they're art. Narrative stylings, carefully chosen words, looped together to convey a sense, state and feeling.
Art requires an audience. Fuck anyone who tells you otherwise, no really - tell them to fuck right off, not only are they wrong, they're just plain lying to you (or they're stupid, and who has time for stupid people or liars?)
Now, does that mean I don't want people to be supportive and empathetic towards me? Of course not. I want fwends just as much as the next person - I'm just far pickier about who I can be friends with, there are so many deal breakers in my books that it takes a rare bird and even then it seems they inevitably, to continue the metaphor, fly away.
Since my ex and I split up I've been filing my time with a variety of different tasks and activities - none of them seem to be developing any level of emotional connection or attachment to another human being, in fact quite the contrary. I think I'm actually broken and scared of the notion.
I can tell you, with absolute certainty, what the framework for each and every day of my life has looked like for the last while:
1> Wake up
2> Make bed
3> Eat breakfast <Mandatory Cat-Petting>
4> Do morning bathroom ritual
5> Goto work
6> Go for morning coffee
7> Skip lunch
8> Go for afternoon coffee
9> Leave work early due to skipping lunch
10> Come home and realize there are 6 hours to kill
11> Watch a couple of PVR'd shows
12> 50/50 chance of eating or skipping dinner
13> Mandatory Cat-Maintenance Session
14> 50/50 chance of checking to see what my Ex has been posting
15> ^ Follow-up, either spend the rest of the night angry and/or annoyed, or waste time on Facebook til it's time to sleep
It's a fucking exciting ritual, I can't wait to start working on the novelization of it. I'm thinking, possible, a romantic comedy staring Ryan Reynolds as me, though if that casting choice does happen I'll have to work a gory suicide into the screen play - I hate Ryan Reynolds.
Now I did say that's the framework, I do slot other activities in as they present themselves. I'm trying to make time to socialize with people, though given the number of social relationships that have crumbled or vanished for me in the last 6 months I'm a little gun-shy there.
I'm also getting exceptionally good at putting together Grooveshark playlists. I slapped one together yesterday that is comprised of industrial covers of rock and/or pop songs.