On why I have no patience for people wallowing in self-pity…

A perfectly able and intelligent human being, old enough to know better, has said to me this morning “I’m just there…”

If this person had been standing in the room with me, as opposed to thousands of miles away, I would have smacked them…hard.  So…since I cannot let it rip with this person, I’m going to say what I think here, and I hope you will be patient with me and understand that this anger is not directed at you, but rather at the portion of the planet’s population that wants others to boost their ego.


F*ck you and your self-pity.  You want me to cheer you up so that you can feel special and loved?  Screw you!

For all intents and purposes, you self-centered dweeb, J’s “just there.”  Not much is expected of him.  People seldom give him a second glance because of anything other than curiosity, and yet…every single, friggin’ fraggin’ day he gets up and goes on…SMILING!

In this house, we could have given up and decided to “just be there” a long time ago, but there’s no time for wallowing.  Life, my dear delusional friend, is not about that…life is about grabbing the bull by either horns or balls and moving along.

You have settled  yourself (by choice, mind you, you person with -at a minimum- average intelligence and ample charm) in a bean bag chair stuffed with depression and under-estimation.  You can get off your fanny right now and use the intelligent brain you’re equipped with to do something worthwhile and, instead, you’re expecting me -whose neurons have pretty much fizzled out by the end of the day- to waste precious time telling you you’re wonderful and don’t lose hope.

I KNOW life can suck.  Trust me, “life can suck” is acquired by the bucketful in this life, but then it’s tossed out (virtually unused) and replaced with “life can kiss it” and we move on.  If I woke up every morning thinking “oh, lord, please, what is going to go wrong now” and didn’t immediately readjust to “well, whatever it is, that’s what I’m here for,” I’d be in a shit bucket of trouble.

Don’t talk to me about being “just there.”  And then, when I call you out on it, don’t tell me I’m laying a guilt trip on you.  No.  That’s not good enough.  That doesn’t work.  I don’t have time to pat your head and go “there, there, darling.”  If I don’t do it for the child that resided in my womb for 38 weeks, I’m certainly not going to do it for a person who graduated cum laude with a Bachelor in Sciences and who has earned a living since the early 80s.  You are an adult, and your problems are not so immense that you cannot handle them.  As far as I’m concerned, if you have time to have your hair and nails done, to get a tattoo and to spend the bulk of your time befriending people on Facebook, you’re totally capable of not being “just there.”

So..in a nutshell, screw you…

Now, I’m going to shake you off and then I’m going to work with J on some new signs so that when we go to his doctor’s appointment next week we can communicate a little better.  And then we’re going to work on some useful arts and crafts projects, and then we’re going to make bread for tonight’s dinner.  And then we’re going to work in the garden, do laundry and such…

See…nothing in the calendar for self-pity.  No just being there.  We will be there, here, over farther, closer by, under and over…but never just JUST.


IT’S HAKA TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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