autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


He said, “I don’t understand why they aren’t beating your door down.” It made me laugh. How many times have I heard this? How many times have I had this conversation? It almost becomes an annoyance; the regularity with which it happens. “Everyone says they want someone like me,” I quip, “But when they find me or meet me, all they can do is shrink, shrivel, and beat feet.”

“I don’t believe it,” He almost mutters, “They’re fools.” I find I cannot agree with him, no matter how much my ego wants to soak in that sentiment. “No, they’re not,” I tell him, “Everyone dreams of being their own, personal ultimate and of having their image of that in another. But there’s a big difference between dreaming it and dealing with it.”

I laugh at myself, of course. It’s the perfect example of what I’m talking about… I know what a grand catch I am, but I also know most people aren’t fishing with deep sea test line. Arrogance? Not if it’s true. (See? Ridiculously confident.)

I’m not quite a steamroller, but I’m damn close. And what he doesn’t know is how it feels to be dragged along behind someone who burns like a roman candle and never seems to know how to slow down or admit defeat. Or what it’s like to have to face them when all you really want is to tell them to go be all perky and perpetually in motion somewhere else.

I say it’s like being a Monet… from a distance, beauty and symmetry and the sense of fitting perfectly within its space. Closer? Perhaps not so much.

But what can you do when you tell the world that you actually, literally, fully, more than commonly MEAN what you say and they just don’t grok what that might mean when it’s all “up close and personal”? That what you’re setting out here isn’t some fluffed up piece of “look how perfect I am”? Or that the “bad sides” to it all are just as ridiculously difficult to endure as the “good sides” seem to be wonderful?

I. Am. An. Intense. Person. And no, you really cannot imagine what that means unless you know someone who just never seems to really come to rest, even when they’re resting. I wear most people out. Or turn them off by being utterly incapable of reigning myself in. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I could do it… but I do not want to and, damn it, why should I have to? Isn’t the whole point of “this” to meet people who can and will accept me for who, what, and how I am?

(Yes. The answer to the rhetorical question is, “Yes!”)

I lied a bit in the above; I’m not really a Monet. A Monet is perfection in art and I’m a far, far cry from perfection in any context. But I am what I am and I be as I be and I begin to think it may be quite some time before I meet someone who both understands what it means AND is interested, attracted, and fine with it.

Good thing I’m patient. (chuckle)