Don’t Understand the Understandable.

So I was read the riot act this morning for an act that wasn’t deliberate, but was more an identifier that something is wrong and should be healthfully corrected. It seems this morning’s violent conclusion started with my audacity three days ago to criticized Facebook, the people who share videos, and attire worn in public. On all three, I didn’t walk into the room and bloviate my opinion on the color of the kitchen paint or last week’s reality show. No. I shared my comments while in the middle of the topic.

I don’t want to pull out the way back machine on what was said(or not said), or the environment I currently live in, but suffice to say I was singled out as the lone person with “the issue.” In fact, that’s the phrasing we(“we” meaning “them”, not me)use around here. When a bolide of indifference enters the airspace of perceived corrected, this crashing intent of opinion is swatted aside by the godly hand of “that’s your issue, not mine.


“That’s your issue, not mine.”

I don’t think you should be posting those kind of pictures online. They’re a tad salacious.

“That’s your issue, not mine.”

You really shouldn’t be swearing in public or in the house. You need to stop that.

“That’s your issue, not mine.”

I don’t think there’s any intrinsic value in watching [INSERT TROPE-BASED PRIMETIME PROGRAMMING]. The characters just foreshadow, if not live up to the self-fulling prophecy the stereotypes mainstream media uses to exploit said that group. I wish there was more shows on or music played that wasn’t so damn uninspiring or negative.

“That’s your issue, not mine.”

That’s right. Even if my observation possesses just a smatterings of logic, the harangues, squawking rudely, make it their business to displace my right to criticism AND jettison me off to some far off island–sans Mary Anne.

I don’t have a tome of complaints. I have but small observations, that when spoken aloud, are undressed and left out in the cold.

To die.

What are my human complaints, what could cause people around me to turn on my words like cancerous cells?

  • If those you follow on social media post sexual, sensationalized, or adult content, and you are a child, you need to unfollow, unfriend, or unquestioned me and do any of the first two.
  • Boys, namely men, but boys too, will make assumptions of who, what, and how they will like to define you based on how you speak, carry yourself, and your attire. I don’t want you to change for them, but carry regard for your worth with you where ever you go. But, since you’re a child, I need you to put a bra on under that tee shirt.
  • A reward should never be expected; especially for a task asked to perform. If one holds the door open for a person, they shouldn’t expect a courtesy response. One given would be nice, but if not, still, the act of holding the door is one’s choice before the fact. If I give onto you all the things you ask of, without too much wavering on my end, I shouldn’t expect a bounty of re-served kindness or gratitude from you. No. It doesn’t work like that. However, and this is a smidgen of a “however”, gratuity for all the things I’ve given to you would be nice. Spoken or written, any gracious words of thanks would make me feel that my presence is appreciated.
  • Don’t wind the spoil too quickly, after having felt your line tug slightly, to only discard both your feed, pole, and bucket into the river when your catch breaks free. Walking away from a conversation or argument you initiated isn’t going to build better roads for the future. In fact, it will erode what we already have(which isn’t much), turning our relationship into a place where serious matters are not spoken about.

I don’t ask much of the world, for the world is not mine to request from. I am blessed to be apart of all the beautiful, horrible, and indifference that comprises the human narrative. Still, I shouldn’t have to force a communion with the elder gods for them to assist me in making sure others see my presence as being worthy also.  It makes no sense for the titan Atlas to hold the world aloft on his back if there is nothing worthwhile living upon it. I don’t request much, only that when spoken to or when I speak the entreaties of exchange are merited out and what needs to be extrapolated from the conclusion(yes, there needs to be a conclusion on all topics) is taken with the recipient.

This morning’s  episodic “that’s your issue, not mine”, “you should be so lucky” tirade, where I was more caught off guard, and less allowed to explain myself(especially since the topic was about my comments three days ago) did not sit easy with me. Communication has been retired. It replaced with that tiresome line grandma’s used when dinner went far too long because one or more children wanted their dessert instead:

“You’re not leaving this table until you finish those [cold, undercooked] peas.”

We don’t communicate. Talking has been replaced with vignettes, storyboards of what should have been said or regret-filled commentaries about what could have.  I’m saddened more by the passage of time; how it will not stop, will not slow down for one second. Never allowing us to repair the damage said or unheard. Never allowing us to patch and reform, because setting the clock right. Time is sad.

This ship is sinking, all the lifeboats gone, the survivors who hadn’t drown, huddled together along the bow–arms locked. Any attempt for a rescue turned away by our mad Captain and his XOs.

“Captain, we need to talk. We need to figure out what we’re going to do before we all go down with the ship.”

“That’s your issue, not mine.”


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