“Type, Drunken Fingers!”

Last night, I went out with a mix of old friends and new, and I had a couple of drinks. It doesn’t take much for me to feel the effects of alcohol, so by the time I had gone home, my mind was tipsy and my fingers were drunk. I mention this fact about my fingers because I apparently decided this was the perfect time to write a blog post. Thank God I waited to post it until this morning, because now I can review (and laugh) at what I wrote. But you know what? I’m still going to post it for you beautiful folks. Because I have a policy on this blog about being transparent, and if drunk blogging isn’t transparent, then I don’t know what is.

Here are some notes on what I wrote: it’s very stream-of-consciousness. It’s still pretty readable, and not completely drunk sounding (like I said, my fingers were more drunk than my mind), but it was basically me saying, “Screw structure. I want to write.” I wish it was more silly than it was — that would be more entertaining — but alas, if you want silliness from me, all you need to do is listen to me speaking in person. My thoughts are a lot less put together then.

Other note: Hey, Mom! Hey, other family that reads this blog! Have fun with my experiences with alcohol. This one’s for you.

You know what frurstrates me? Trying to connect with people and then falling flat on my face

There was a acircumstance that I found myself in in which I met someone with a tattoo that I recognized from a book that I’d read way back in high school. I asked him about it, thinking, hey! ConnectioN! To which he responded at first in a confused way, and then in a “huh, cool, have you read anyo fh his other books?” way. I had only read the one bpok by that author. Apparently this deterred fhim from havin a fill connection with ne, because that was about all that we said to each other afetr that.

On the other hand, there was this girl who I had a conversation with at the same tiable that was very insistent on continuging the conversation, and she kept going on and on about being single and how frustrating that was and how people kept saying she intimidated them, and blach blah blah. I kept wanting to scream, “Maybe it’s because you’re so fixated on being single”. I so wanted to have other conversations, which made me want to cut the conversation shot, but I ddin’t, because at aosme point I realized that my own insecuiritoes about makeing a connection with someone else were the same insecurities she had about making a connection with anyone. I had opened a door in the conversation I had with her, and she saw me as a safe person to continue that conversation with, and latched onto it abd wanted to continue it. Therefore, who was I to take that away from her? Who was a I t ocdeniy that conversation, that connection that she had in a time and ponit where she neeeded it  ost? If she needed someone to hear her out, even if it was frustrating to me to hear someone obsess over something like that, then who was i to take away that necessity i her life/? Maybe, she needed someone to understand her just as much as I wanted the guy with the tattoo to understand me. Someone to talk to. To, for just a moment, say, “Here we are, relating to each other, and feeling like we are not a lone in this world.”

Now, as I am sobering up and rereading all of the above, I realize that perhaps I shouldn’t leave myself to my drunken thoughts. On the other hand, perhaps drunken thoughts are the best, because they are truthful, and I’m not going to edit anything I just wrote. Because I am all about the truth. I don’t care if I look like an asshole, because if I’m being honest, sometimes I am an asshole. And as long as we’re all cool with being who we are, then maybe we can admit that sometimes who we are is an asshole. But that doesn’t mean that’s all of who we are. What we are is a bunch of pieces of thoughts and insecurities and feelings and ideas and memories and when it all boils down to it, who we are is not one easy, simplistic concept or thing. You can’t chalk up my personality with one experience or memory because if you could, then I would be a goddamn character. I wouldn’t be a reality, because I would be a two-dimensional construct that couldn’t change her mind or think contradicting things because of her own thought process and the experiences that make her ideas form and morph as time goes by. Who I am is constantly changing, and that’s okay. No one ever said I had to be this one thing forever. I ain’t straying off the path, because it’s my path, and I’m making it as I go along. I may be straying off YOUR path. But whatever, I like hiking.

To the girl who was mentioned in my drunken typing: if you are reading this, I’m sorry. We had a delightful conversation, and you are a delightful person. I don’t want you to think that we didn’t, and that you’re not. Like I said, I can be an asshole sometimes.

I think a lot of the time we worry about connections throughout life. Sure, we think, being yourself is a great concept, but when put into action, there’s the fear that people will reject you. So, do we choose to put up a front so that we become what we believe to be “likeable”? Or do we put it all out there, and risk loneliness? This is something I think about far too much. Because I genuinely like myself, but what if no one else does?
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But you know what? I would rather be the only one who likes me than be the only one who doesn’t. I’m going to take advice from Drunk Sam on this one: any given moment in your life, or any given attribute, does not encapsulate who you are. So, you’re single. You’re also a ton of other things. Those things may change, or maybe even being single may change. But there is always more to you than the thing you fixate on.

And the people you meet may only connect to one aspect of you; and yeah, maybe that means it won’t be a lasting connection. But if you’re so fixated on making and holding onto that connection, then by the time the disconnect happens, you will have missed enjoying that connection.

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