Doesn’t mean that I want to be drawn into your bullshit.
Especially if you don’t have the balls to directly ask me what you want.
I think I’m going to have a T-Shirt made!
I’m basically a nice guy. I can be an asshole, but to be honest that’s a defensive screen because so many people want to take advantage of any nice people they meet.
Being nice is perceived by some, sadly too many, as inherently weak and easily manipulated. So a lot of nice people cloak themselves in the mantle of being an asshole. If we didn’t, we’d be manipulated into doing shit that we don’t want to do, or indeed didn’t have the time to do for other people all our lives.
I can tell you this from bitter experience, once someone gets their hooks into you and figures out that they can manipulate you they will never stop. They’ll be a fucking parasite until you’ve got nothing left to give them or you actively burn them out of your life.
I have a lot of respect for people who can say “No” without guilt, fear, or remorse.
I have a hard time saying “No” because growing up I was conditioned to please EVERYONE! Instead of breaking that conditioning which was built from the damn cradle onward, I created the asshole cloak. My problem is that sometimes I leave the house without it.
An interesting case in point was Saturday.
I had a very disturbing call with my Mother. The call was beyond disturbing it was very upsetting. (No one can push your buttons like your Mother!) Normally, when I get this kind of upset, I do something physical to dissipate the hurt and anger before it turns in on me and causes further damage.
This is how we came to have a drip irrigation system at our house prior to the place burning. It’s a serious challenge to dig any kind of hole where I live. One day, The Other Half and I had a throw down of an argument. I grabbed my handy trenching tool and proceeded to dig all the trenches necessary to bury the drip lines. When he stepped out onto the deck with a tall glass of ice tea and told me to come and drink something I took it as him apologizing. He wasn’t… He was just worried that I’d work myself to heat stroke. Later he told me he kept thinking, “That dumbass will come in soon, he’s been out there working in that heat for six solid hours with no food and no water.” He only fixed me a glass of iced tea when he realized I was fixated on what I was doing.
From then on, he’d keep an eye on me. He realized that day that I was very stubborn and if I was completely engaged in doing something, I would literally forget basic stuff. This was especially true if I was working off anger, frustration, or sadness. He wasn’t so worried about me in the Winter time but Summer always made him nervous.
Anyhow, I’d had this phone call with my Mother. I pulled on my boots, grabbed my yard tool, and got to cutting and trimming. Trouble was, I ran out of plants to mangle before I ran out of anger. I switched from the chainsaw to the weed whacker and discovered there wasn’t anything tall enough in my yard to trim down.
Then I remembered that my next door neighbor had been out in Palm Springs looking after a sick friend. I marched over to his yard. Surely, there must be something that needs cutting! No Joy! Nothing had grown since the last time I trimmed his place. (I took care of his yard before the weed abatement people could ticket him.)
Now I’m getting frustrated about not being able to vent my frustration!
Hmmm. The new guy… he’s going through a divorce. He’s been spending time with his kids and doesn’t have any of his stuff with him. He’s only living there for 6 months… And he’s gone for the afternoon with his Son.
His rental yard is ripe for the trimming…
So I get to work. My anger and frustration flowing out of me as I focus on trimming the weeds. I’m happy in my own world mowing down thicket after thicket. I’ve moved to the area where he parks and have just about completed it when I hear my name.
FUCK!
It’s the neighbor that lives next to Crazy Pants. The guy who NEVER says what he means. Who never just asks for what he wants, instead it’s always a long drawn out convoluted miasma of words and randomized ideas. I sometimes find dealing with him excruciating. And in my current state… I’m in no fucking mood!
But then, he hits me with a question that makes me concerned that he’s losing his mind just like my Mother. He asks if I’m the property owner of the rental air B&B. He knows that I’m not. When I tell him, “No,” he asks me if I have a key to the place. Uh, “No!”
Suddenly I flash forward to where this conversation is going because this conversation is like 10 other “conversations” before.
He’s going to bitch about the exterior lights being left on and since he sleeps in his living room how these lights bother him and disrupt his sleep. YAWN! NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM!
But he wants to make it my problem. He wants me to talk to whoever and make them turn out the lights. He seems to expect me to be interested or concerned or frankly give a damn.
In the back of my mind I’m thinking, “Get off your ass, put down the fucking bong, and deal with your own shit.” He’s still droning on and on about how tough it is for him sleep and how put upon these lights are making him feel, no-one understands how difficult… blah, blah, blah.
I’m at the end of the conversation while he’s still droning on. And I’m getting really angry about it. I put my brain in neutral. Why does this guy think I, or anyone else for that matter care? Can he not see that I’m hot and sweaty and his puerile issue with the lights is of zero concern to me, I just want to get back to burning off angry energy which he’s actively refueling.
I cut off the remaining 45 minutes of his bitching and complaining, “You know man, both of the lights shine into my house too. We’ve discussed this before. The folks are renters and probably haven’t figured out what switches do what yet. When it was an Air B&B those renters always left the lights on. Having a permanent renter is better than an Air B&B here.”
He blinked, “Both Lights????”
I pretty much growled, “Uh yeah, the porch light and the deck light both shine into my house. I use this new thing they call a shade.”
The whine of the weed whacker motor drowned out whatever reply he might have made. Then I realized part of what had made me so angry. For all his whingeing and blathering on about his interrupted sleep, not once did he ask me directly to speak to someone on his behalf, he just assumed that because I’m a nice guy he can delegate his shit to me.
Now I’m really pissed off. How about this motherfucker asking himself, or me what’s up? Not once in 30+ years of living here have I gone unbidden into someone else yard to clear weeds. Clearly I’m exhibiting odd behavior.
I popped open the gate to the rest of the rental’s yard.
The weeds in that yard now know the meaning of Vengeful! The weeds on an odd small patch of land at the end of my street also learned the term.
The battery died just as I finished the little patch.
My anger and rage had abated significantly, but embers still remain.
I’m going to be really screwed the next time my Mother calls.
OH LOOK! There she is now.
Maybe I really need that belt sander I’ve been looking at. There’s some painting to be done around here. Perhaps that nice compound mitre saw too.
Sigh, “Hello Mom. No, we spoke yesterday. Yes we did, I’m sorry you don’t remember. No, I’m not lying to you…”