I'm Not Wired That Way...

I'm not wired in a way that lets me be aware of what other people think of me.

Seriously. It's a huge issue at times. Well, it's a huge issue in my head, which is where I live most of the time. Also, it's a mess in here. Just sayin'.

Someone e-mailed me tonight, and part of the e-mail was them telling me how someone thought so highly of me, and how they aspired to be like me, and other things that made me feel a little sorry for this person who has set his goals so low. The whole time I was thinking, "Really?"

Then I looked at it logically, which I a capable of doing in lots of non-directly-related-to-me situations, and thought, "Well, yeah, I guess I can see that." I mean, it didn't make it any less sad, but I could see it, right?

And now I have to stop because I'm laughing at how I'm presenting myself as this total Eeyore or Marvin or something. I don't mean to, but that's also related to how I'm wired!

So I am now sitting here thinking how I'm just really not wired to know what people think of me. At least part of it is due to the fact most of my brain believes anything is possible, and I can be wrong about every single thing at any given moment--even about stuff that's been proven.

Don't get me wrong, despite my sister's concerns after hearing my "talking to myself and talking to my other self" story the other night, I don't mean this in an "Oh, and by the way, I'm very mentally unstable" sort of way. I just mean it's possible (not probable, mind you) that this is all some hallucination piped into my head by my co-workers on our home world where we're all a light blue-green color and have eight legs and sixteen arms. "Hey, let's try to be sort of pinkish and have two legs and two arms..."

Of course, that leads me to wonder what the hell 2005 would have been all about. What kind of jacked up virtual reality was that?

Not that I actually believe that's the deal. I'm just saying it's possible. The possible is a niggling little jiggly bit that worms in my head no matter what. It slips right past Occam's razor and wraps itself around my mind and won't let go.

So it's possible any theory I come up with about how someone thinks of me would be totally wrong. Even with the evidence, "Every time she sees me, she spits in my face and calls me gutter trash," it's possible she just has problems expressing her affection... right?