This is not going to turn into an “all about me” blog, I swear!

In fact, this will be the last girly post on the main page. Any future thoughts regarding this atheist in … no, it’s too soon to even acknowledge the Big Word exists, and I’m too polite to use any dirty words … this atheist in transition from detachment and apathy to connected Care Bear will be dropped in the new page up top entitled Manecdotes. Yes, aren’t I clever? I thought of that years ago for use on another blog that was very selfishly designed that I later lost interest in updating. It’s good to find a use for it again.

Anyway, in bed the other morning (!), the Man brought up the fact that he has to give a lot his time over to the Little Man which means less for me. I forget exactly how he phrased it, but this issue had been on my mind already so I had a ready response. It ran along the lines of “Duh, you idiot!” but kinder, obviously. The Little Man has to be his top priority. It’s beyond obvious and should go without saying, truth be told. But, since reassurance is worth its weight in gold, I tried to explain that I was aware of the different levels of importance he’d have to place on the different parts of his life. “I’m your diversion; he’s your son,” I said, thinking that was the end of it.

And it was, until close to 10:00 last night when he phoned to complain about the way I phrased that. What’s wrong with it? I wondered. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. I’d worked really hard on a whole speech that pretty much pivoted on that phrase and I thought it was witty. Turned out he’d been mulling it over and came to the conclusion that I was not giving myself enough credit. Again, I’m like, “What? Diversions are fun. I’m fun…” Again, I couldn’t see anything wrong with it, so he dropped it, and the conversation moved on.

Now here it is, the next morning, and I’m awake early because it’s what I do and the phone conversation is still fresh in my brainpan and I think I now see what bugged him about it.

It was, by and large, a put-down. I basically compared myself to a hobby that anyone can take up when they feel like it and drop when they’re bored or out of time. Well fuck. Who wants to be treated like that? I don’t want to be treated like that. The real and proper answer probably should have been, “I’m your friend.” So why didn’t I just say that?

Hell if I know. Hell if I know.

The trouble with trying to psychoanalyze ourselves is that we’re a) not trained to do it and b) not objective in any way when we do. Looking at myself this way is like seeing my reflection through a fun-house mirror where some bits look like I remember them, but other stuff’s warped beyond all recognition.

About 1minionsopinion

Canadian Atheist Basically ordinary Library employee Avid book lover Ditto for movies Wanna-be writer Procrastinator
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