I asked my Facebook friends a question the other day and discovered that somehow, against all odds, I actually have friends who care. That’s normal, you might say, but then again you don’t know me.
If you’re reading this, then you know I write blogs fairly frequently. In my quest for blog material, I read a lot of news stories from the internet. If you’ve been on the internet then you might have some idea of the mental anguish I suffer while trying to find stories to blog about.
I saw a clickbait headline that triggered a number of my many triggers. I considered reading it in the hopes it might provide blog material. On the other hand, it was likely to enhance my general despair at the condition of human intelligence. I posted an image of the headline, as seen on this article, and asked my friends if I should read the article or go and have a nice sandwich instead.
Much to my surprise and delight, my friends unanimously suggested the sandwich. They apparently care about me and my mental health. This comes as a bit of a surprise. You see, I’m not a likeable fellow. No, no, don’t all raise your hands and dispute the theory, we all know it’s true.
I’m Not a Likeable Fellow
My general unlikability is not really my fault, at least that’s what I like to think. I was born this way. I’m not good at social interactions, I’m not seeing anyone shaking their heads at that one. I’m do not tolerate fools well and this combined with complete lack of expression control allows people to grasp almost instantaneously that I’m thinking how incredibly stupid is the thing they just said.
My expression in these circumstances is a sort of sneer of incredulity with a pained internal dialog on whether or not I should tell you how incredibly, unbelievably, astonishingly, moronic is the thing you just said. Then, after a few moments of hesitation, I either tell you, bad, or don’t tell, worse because you know what I’m thinking anyway, but now can’t even get angry at me for calling you the equivalent of a mentally retarded sea slug.
Unfortunately, I’m self-aware enough to realize I’m a complete ass but not self-aware enough to stop being so. A dilemma to be sure. I will say it’s a step up from my younger days when I wasn’t even aware of my Level 20 Douche skill.
In any case, if you don’t believe my assessment of my likeability, or lack thereof, please, ask any of my friends. Better yet ask the people who don’t like me.
That’s why it came as a surprise that I have friends who care, who actually consider my mental well-being and suggested the sandwich over the article that surely would have triggered the earlier mentioned facial expressions.
I wish I knew what I’ve done to deserve friends who care, it’s certainly beyond my powers to comprehend but, that being said, I am grateful for those who put up with me.