I don't want to be a bitter, nasty person. Really. I want to see the delusions of grandeur of others and slough it off and not take it personally even when I'm directly confronted with it. I want to laugh. That's what this entry is all about. Laughing it off.
I'm surrounded by the über-important robots. They march, march, march down the hall. They hold their heads very high and don't say hi. They are appropriately somber and boringly dressed. They are a black cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup. They are hard-boiled wannabes in their twenties, thirties . . . only a few in their forties like that. It seems a lot of people get a little older and wiser and stop taking themselves quite as seriously. It's a sign of character. Some, however, will be a caricature till the day they die. They need it. It's part of their composition, their identity.
I think to reject softness, kindness shows true weakness. It takes courage to be vulnerable and it takes confidence to not have the need to prove how important, how powerful you are.
And so, if it weren't so irritating, I would feel sorry for these people. Yes, ironically I feel sorry for these people who probably feel sorry for me, because they probably see me as weak because I don't work hard to appear strong or to hide my idiosyncrasies. I can be quirky, make odd comments and wear inappropriate clothing. It's easy and it comes naturally. Maybe these folks don't have quirks or odd desires. Perhaps they truly are the robots they seem to be . . . the thought petrifies me.
And now, instead of laughing, I feel like running for the hills!
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