Saying "Hi!" and staying civil: a meditation on restraint
I was in a coffeeshop between classes today with two friends. A guy we all knew -- and who knew all of us -- walked by without acknowledging us in the slightest. Now, I won't pretend that this guy was what I would call a "friend," but he wasn't a stranger. He certainly should have felt obligated to return my nod.
Now, of course, I'm pretty neurotic. But this isn't just some narcissistic response to someone else's casual apathy. The bottom line is this:
In society, we all pretend we care about people around us, about whom we couldn't really give two shits. It seems a petty concession, but it becomes a burden. I resent the fact that this guy didn't -- and apparently, doesn't -- feel the pressure. I also resent the fact that his failure to respond implies, i.e. that while I dedicate more time than I'd like to negotiating the precarious balance that is my relatively non-violent relationship to society, this guy lives without such contraints, flaunting his defiance willy-nilly.
Maybe I'm an anti-social maniac, but just having the strength not to throttle any one of the countless morons that drift across my radar screen everyday requires so much effort that it's almost a career. (Commuting on 35 everyday, not to mention waiting tables has more to do with suppressing murderous instincts than anything else.) Hell, sometimes -- read: frequently -- I find my own sense of self-loathing so overwhelming that it's all I can do not to drive off a highly-elevated overpass to spare myself the debasement that is continued existence. But, as is obvious, I have managed to restrain myself from doing so, though at no small cost, I might add.
I have noticed, though, that most attempts to avenge oneself tend to back-fire. Consequently, I've made a personal commitment to a self-imposed regimen of random acts of violence, both outwardly as well as inwardly directed.
I will destroy things I do not own; in fact, I will seek out and destroy things whose owners I do not know. Or maybe I'll make it a point to steal and break what belongs to my close friends. I'll iron out those wrinkles later. I will certainly over-indulge in drugs and alcohol as often as possible. The only area of my life that I will not assault with self-destructive behavior will be school work.
By doing so, I hope to get a good, well-paying job, which will allow me to expand my oeuvre of long-term suicidal methods. Maybe I'll take up an expensive drug. Maybe I'll slowly give my soul away, so that one day, far in the future, I will wake up with a void inside that is unfillable. No matter what specific approach I take, I will adopt an unfulfilling, smothering, empty lifestyle, one that will obviously end with my biological death, and hopefully end with my spiritual death.
By so doing, I hope to squelch that impulse within me that I suppress everyday of my modern, social life. This way, the next time someone I know walks by without saying "hey," I'll know exactly how to deal with my resentment. More importantly, I'll know how to do so in a manner that guarantees at least another 20 to 30 years of protracted death.
Now, of course, I'm pretty neurotic. But this isn't just some narcissistic response to someone else's casual apathy. The bottom line is this:
In society, we all pretend we care about people around us, about whom we couldn't really give two shits. It seems a petty concession, but it becomes a burden. I resent the fact that this guy didn't -- and apparently, doesn't -- feel the pressure. I also resent the fact that his failure to respond implies, i.e. that while I dedicate more time than I'd like to negotiating the precarious balance that is my relatively non-violent relationship to society, this guy lives without such contraints, flaunting his defiance willy-nilly.
Maybe I'm an anti-social maniac, but just having the strength not to throttle any one of the countless morons that drift across my radar screen everyday requires so much effort that it's almost a career. (Commuting on 35 everyday, not to mention waiting tables has more to do with suppressing murderous instincts than anything else.) Hell, sometimes -- read: frequently -- I find my own sense of self-loathing so overwhelming that it's all I can do not to drive off a highly-elevated overpass to spare myself the debasement that is continued existence. But, as is obvious, I have managed to restrain myself from doing so, though at no small cost, I might add.
I have noticed, though, that most attempts to avenge oneself tend to back-fire. Consequently, I've made a personal commitment to a self-imposed regimen of random acts of violence, both outwardly as well as inwardly directed.
I will destroy things I do not own; in fact, I will seek out and destroy things whose owners I do not know. Or maybe I'll make it a point to steal and break what belongs to my close friends. I'll iron out those wrinkles later. I will certainly over-indulge in drugs and alcohol as often as possible. The only area of my life that I will not assault with self-destructive behavior will be school work.
By doing so, I hope to get a good, well-paying job, which will allow me to expand my oeuvre of long-term suicidal methods. Maybe I'll take up an expensive drug. Maybe I'll slowly give my soul away, so that one day, far in the future, I will wake up with a void inside that is unfillable. No matter what specific approach I take, I will adopt an unfulfilling, smothering, empty lifestyle, one that will obviously end with my biological death, and hopefully end with my spiritual death.
By so doing, I hope to squelch that impulse within me that I suppress everyday of my modern, social life. This way, the next time someone I know walks by without saying "hey," I'll know exactly how to deal with my resentment. More importantly, I'll know how to do so in a manner that guarantees at least another 20 to 30 years of protracted death.
posted by fockler at 11:03 PM
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