Everyone is out for my time — my precious, priceless time! I’m completely helpless with zero chance of survival. I have no choice but to get with the program and abide by the rules and social stipulations before me. I’m not in control. My time is not mine.
The funny this is I agreed to this. Now I must pay and release all forms of control over my life. The world works tirelessly to mitigate my freedom, to minimize the level of energy I’m able to harness and put towards anything. I’m a slave. These demands force my mind and body into reluctant action as I fulfill the preset agenda I foolishly set.
The problem is this: I agree to these things. I sign up for them thinking they’ll be good for me. Sometimes I think we feel better when we have plans — they don’t even have to be desirable plans, just the idea of people also planning to be in the same place as us makes us feel there and involved and needed.
I mean, we are social creatures.
Maybe this is why I agree to these things in the moment. It’s not that I have a problem saying “no.” I don’t. A girl once gave me her number to which I replied:
“Thanks, but no. I’m not going to text you. Not now, not ever.”
I don’t know.
Maybe I do have a problem saying no. Maybe it’s a problem because I know other people have a problem with me saying no. Personally, I don’t care. Like I don’t care what you choose to do with your life. I do not have the urge to ridicule anyone because they have different plans, priorities, or desires outside of being in the same physical location as me. I really do not care. The fact you have something better to do doesn’t surprise me either.
Saying “no” to people and plans makes me feel like a terrible person.
It makes me feel arrogant and conceited and fancy and, for some reason, people take it personal. They actually get upset when you don’t want to be with them in the same location at the same time. Weird. After a while, it starts to become hard to tell people “no.” Like I don’t care the first 3 times, but on the 4th and 5th I’m starting to feel like an ass.
Which I probably am.
Then I give in, agree to plans, and SUFFER.
I’ve relinquished all my creative freedom and have agreed to not be alone. I’ve agreed to “social fun times” negating all ideas and implications of anything worthwhile long term. People don’t get it. They don’t understand my preferences. I get labeled a square, a lame, someone who makes everything too difficult.
But I don’t care.
At least these are the worst of my problems. I could be blind. Or have bumper stickers all over the back of my car. The thing is, I don’t even care. I know this isn’t even a real problem. This is a mood. And moods come and go. I’ll forget about this feeling in 2 hours.
Then I’ll look back on this and think “idiot!”