Tuesday, 20 October 2009


I remember being in high school and taking the TTC there and back every day.  Well, most days.  In the warmer months, I liked to walk the 4.5 kilometers home.  In winters I would hitch a ride from friends.  In both cases, the purpose was to save the money allocated to bus far and use it for more fun and social things, like going to Eaton Centre after school, or on the weekend.  In the months where I calculated that a Metropass would not be to my benefit, I would purchase tickets/tokens, and sometimes I would use cash.  I still have a distinct memory from high school of having left my bus fare in a neat stack on my desk, walking away to do something, and returning to hear my peers joking:

One person: "Whose pile of coins is that?"

Another: "Who else'?  Do you know anyone else in this class who suffers from OCD?"

They would have continued in this fashion, but I jumped in to point out that one neither has nor hasn't OCD, and that there's a scale - a degree to which one suffers.  Then we all laughed heartily until the joke got boring or another topic started, I presume.  I can't say for certain now what really happened next, or even if I`ve misquoted my high school peers.  But this scenario makes sense and the options for the ending put forth are suitable and likely candidates so I'll contentedly move on.

All I really wanted to get at was that I never really concerned myself with what others thought of me.  It was always too troublesome to point out their folly.  On occasion I would, but then it was out of boredom.  I had the time to explain myself fully.  There were, of course, some persons whose opinions mattered to me.  There were many reasons why this was the case, the most important one of which being that I respected them.  But for all others, even when I disagreed completely with their opinions of me, I couldn`t be bothered to correct them.  I can barely even bring myself to exhaustively explain now while typing to myself on this blog.  I just that feel these things should be obvious.  You should know that I can`t be concerned about what you think if I don't respect you.  (And that if I don't ask for your opinion, well, ... )  You should know that I'm not going to invest time in explaining myself to you if your opinion of me matters little to me.  You should know that I feel that my efforts would be fruitless because I don't expect you to understand, anyway. The subsequent frustration is worth avoiding, and the disappointment from having my time wasted, unnecessary.  So I don't bother.  Only out of boredom would I bother [to explain something so obvious to someone who can't understand it].  It pains me greatly to even type this out.  (I feel I should point out that in theory, then, it should be difficult to differentiate between when I'm bored, and if I am showing respect to you.  This is a burden that I have to bear.)

So, am I who you think I am?  I'm not going to answer that.
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