I live in a world that I do not understand. I feel disconnected – like a missing link – not quite human but some type of intelligent, unknown hominid deserving of personhood. Evolved in some ways – yet, some kind of mutant. The first, the last, the only one of my kind. Not quite a person but still a primate that requires love and friendship; a sensitive, misunderstood, sentient being with a wide range of emotions who is terrible at making small talk, cannot physically tolerate loud noises and pungent odors, and occasionally writes run-on sentences.
Inconsequential things do not interest me. Ask me a simple question and I will respond as thoroughly – and often unnecessarily and sometimes contextually inappropriately – as I can. I will tell you everything I know about the subject. I like to understand the way things work. I read a lot. I do not notice – nor do I understand – why people do not like this behavior. Unecessary time consumption? Why ask if you are not interested? I just say, “tell me more”. I am invested. I am learning something.
I like picking up new skills: changing a tire, fixing a garbage disposal, plant grafting, going to a boxing class. I want to know everything. However, I am limited. My mental and physical capacity is insufficient – so is yours – so is everyone’s; the tools and resources do not exist – they have not yet been invented.
Shakespeare was right: we are all just actors on a stage. I am a performer with no theatre or audience, standing in the spotlight, nervously looking at a world full of nothing but empty chairs. My performance is irrelevant – no one is present to see or hear. There are no eyes or ears. I am invisible. I am alone. Still, I feel the pressure to be liked and accepted. An impossible feat. An unrealistic expectation.
© 2020 RB
A Blemish is a Blunder 