Many Departures

I never feel like I have that much going on in my life until I actually sit down to blog when it's been a while. It really makes me realize the extent to which time flies. My cat died not long after my last post. She was on the older side and hadn't been doing that well for a while, so it wasn't completely unexpected. It managed to be wholly devastating anyway though. 

I'm not the sort of person that supports wallowing in emotions like grief or disappointment -- or at least not to the point where it starts to feel like it's doing you more harm than good -- but I can't lie. This has been really hard for me. I've had many pets over the years, but Ched was just special. She's pretty much the only living being I've ever known that I can honestly say never seemed to feel anything toward me but love. It's done me so much good to know that any living thing could really embrace me unconditionally like that because it's certainly more than I can say for even the best humans in my life.

And as tough as it can be to feel sad for the loss of both big and little souls that touch lives, I've realized there's a positive side to grief. It's your proof that you experienced someone and something worth missing. I've literally had whole-ass family members and so-called good friends exit this planet without eliciting so much as a tear from me, let alone full-force grief, but looking back on those relationships, I'm not surprised. They were never there for me. They never laughed with me or cried with me. They never actually acted like they loved me or cared about being part of my life. And to be honest, the feeling was mutual. 

I know a lot of animals are unconditionally loving and loyal -- one reason I've always preferred them to people -- but Ched was that to an unusual degree. She did nothing but love me, even when I got frustrated, irritated, or downright angry with her. I worry that I wasn't always as nice to her as she deserved, but I'm sure she had to have known how loved she was regardless. I tried to show her as much as I could and to the extent that I know how. 

The Good and the Bad of Being 40-Something

I don't know if this is just part of what comes with being in my 40's now or what, but I'm morphing into one hell of a fucking grouch as I age. I've never been much of a social animal, but I'm becoming ever more reclusive and antisocial by the day, it seems. I really fucking hate people anymore, and I don't feel like I have the emotional bandwidth to deal with anyone else's bullshit at this phase in my life. It's showing in some of the decisions I've been making about my social media presence lately.

To name just one example, I just got done fiddling with my settings here to reflect my increasingly shitty attitude toward humanity in general and discarded people from my past in particular. Although I still am allowing this blog to be listed in Blogger's databases, I've decided I no longer wish to allow the search engines to index it. I've also locked down the Facebook settings on my link section -- the only place online I even list this blog -- so only non-family acquaintances and friends can even access it in the first place. 

It just occurs to me that the only people out there actively Googling for blogs I might be writing these days are people that already know damn well I want nothing to do with them. I still don't care to go back to keeping a completely locked blog like I used to on LiveJournal, as I like having something personal that Facebook friends can check out if they're interested in getting to know me better. I still don't ultimately care if any of the sad-ass stalkers I have actually find or read any of my writings here, but I figure there's no need to make it easy on them. 

A Zebra in a Sea of Horses

Everyone knows that I'm sort of... unique. What everyone doesn't know is that it's not something I've ever actually wanted to be. No matter how hard I've ever tried to fit in at various points in my life, I've always stuck right out like a sore thumb. Sometimes that's a good thing, but most of the time, it's not. Or at least it isn't to me.

Part of that has to do with being mixed race. The rest of it has to do with being neuroatypical. Even at my best, I was never conventionally beautiful, nor have I ever had what you call a winning personality. I'm witty, smart, and have a good sense of humor, so I've always been able to attract people or attention if I really wanted to. But I've also always been painfully aware that I'm not what any man -- Seth probably included -- had in mind when he pictured his dream woman as a young man just getting started in life and deciding what he wants for the first time. Especially not physically speaking. That hurts sometimes.

I wonder all the time what it would be like to know you're actually what your partner always wanted and not just some aging, second-rate alternative that probably had to grow on them over time. I wonder what it's like to meet your partner's parents and have them instantly like you and see you as someone they'd actually like to have as part of their family. I wonder what it's like for your parents to ever have seen you as something other than a huge disappointment. I wonder what it's like for people not to have to "learn" to like you or accept you. I wonder what it's like to know that you've always been everyone's first choice. -- exactly what everyone always wanted and had in mind.