buffering

Imagine thinking you will get from the beginning of this blog post to the end without interruption.

Now imagine it a different way.

Imagine you begi         n  a sentence on           ly  to have it break apart. Then, perhaps it works for a while, and you get used to the fluidity and ease of movement. Your eyes begin to follow the expected path, from left to right, when                 it                         br                  eaks          up agai n.

Now imagine living like that.

Imagine you're just trying to go to the store, to school, to work. It should be a short trip, right? You walk or you drive or you take the train. There are expected delays, like traffic lights or waiting for the bus to come on schedule.

But then, you get pulled                 over for a busted                                           tail light. Again.

Or you get followed, and you                   don't know why, so you         have to change your travel plans                   for                           your own safe                                ty, because you don't know what their                            plans                                       are for you.

Or someone who matches                   your descript               ion did something, so you need to be checked                                                           out, just in case.

You                        would be              come    accustomed                    to living with interruptions, and when they didn't come, you would wonder when they would arrive. You couldn't get used to smoothly moving from one place to another because

you would never know when the situation would get back to normal or messed up or as messed           up as nor                  mal. You would have to be on constant aler                                 t.

This does something to people psychologically. If you made it to the end of this blog post, I am mildly surprised; if you gave up on it, I'm not. It is a bothersome thing to be interrupted constantly when all you want to do is go from Point A to Point B smoothly and automatically. If you have no idea what this blog post is about, I am very happy for you; some people have to live like this blog post was written. If you understood it, I'm sorry.

We've arrived at the end safely. May your other journeys be smoother than this one.                

those people

Those People.

Life looks glorious for Those People. They say things and people listen to them. They're terribly charming. And terribly smart. And terribly attractive (even those who are asymmetrical and awkward wear it with panache). Well read, well versed, well traveled. All that.

I'm not one of them.

I'm just me.

I say things sometimes --a few people listen because they're kind souls.

I can be charming, but only for short periods of time and usually by accident.

I got good grades in school, so I suppose I qualify as 'smart'. I've made enough mistakes, though, that I doubt that book learning is everything.

I am asymmetrical and awkward, hold the panache. I feel like an odd duck a great deal of the time.    

I've read some books, but not as many as other people. I forget new learning easily and have to relearn things again and again --a side effect of disorganization. I have had the opportunity to travel some, but there are many other places I'd like to go. 

The thing is, maybe Those People are not Those People, either. We can only guess at what Those People are, based on how people respond to them and how and what they choose to show the world.

I trust people more when they are willing to show off their insecurities, their struggles, and their ordinary truths. When confronted with one of Those People, I have a tendency to approach them with suspicion --what are you hiding, and when will the other shoe drop? These are my prejudices, I realize. Some of them are formed from experience; some from insecurities.

It must be hard to be one of Those People. What happens when you make a mistake, have a pimple, burp in public? What if you haven't read All The Right Books? Are you scorned? Mocked by your friends? Sent to a reeducation camp? What must it be like for them?

Perhaps I may seem like one of Those People to others. I don't know --I only know how I feel, and I feel like an odd duck more often than not.

And who are you? Are you one of Those People?