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Monday, Jul. 19, 2004 / 5:35 p.m. ~Impact? Ghost? Why?~ Perhaps I don't take compliments well. Perhaps it's true, I could say, if it had been said before, and has it? Been said? I'm uncomfortable with praise. I feel too accustomed to the opposite, too used to defending myself, too used to trying harder, to putting up a front of steel, too used to being cold and heartless on the outside, and perfecting it all, such an act, so hard to keep it going. Someone says something nice, or complimentary, or flattering, and I can tell when it's sincere, and I crumble just a bit. I don't know what to say, and later I wonder if I even said, "Thank you". First it was one of my contacts at the Large Multinational Corporation telling me she praised me in a written survey, and she enjoys our dealings, our conversations, my methods, and I responded it's not all me, it's a team effort, meaning my team at my job, but she took it to mean the two us, she and I. So I let her. And I thanked her, and there was a moment of awkward silence. I wanted to ask for a trinket, a t-shirt I might wear on Casual Friday, something with the company logo on it, a toy, something made of diecast metal. But I didn't, I let it fall away and moved quickly on. Then it was a coworker, someone I rarely see anymore, but someone who's known me for six years, someone who admires me for my financial handlings, the way I budget myself, the way I keep track, write everything down, and etc. I had to say, finally, "It's not easy being like this, it's stressful and tedious", and I reminded her that bankruptcy will change a person and the way she handles her money. Yet I didn't tell her I buy whatever I want at the grocery store, within reason, seldom even look to see the total, just swipe the debit card and write it down later. It's all written down, and I feel uncomfortable when my balance falls below several hundred dollars. Doesn't mean I have insurance, or savings, so I'm not as smart as she thinks, but compared to her I am a veritable genius, a Wall Street Whiz Kid. And I grew tired of thanking her, then fell to her chattiness, as she apparently needed to talk, she was starved for conversation and I stood listening, my hand on the door ready to open it and leave, to walk away. I never know what people think of me, I never know how anyone feels, I never expect anyone to remember me, nor think of me, to wonder how I am, or to praise me, not to my face, not behind my back, and why should I be so puzzled? What do people think when they're with me, and what do they remember when I walk away? I picture myself more a ghost, some sort of transparency, and look to see recognition in the eyes of people I once knew. It's a fine line between expecting to make an impact and being flabbergasted by compliments and praise. And let's not forget those who have purposefully withheld any niceties, not wanting to 'swell my head', not wanting to 'feed my ego'. Don't they think I need it from time to time? Don't we all? I don't know how to act around people. I'm so comfortable being alone, with the cats, it's so hard to interact. Sometimes. And usually. Along the same lines, I'd have to wonder why certain people pick up their telephones and call me when they do. As Nelson did this weekend. Why would he suddenly think to call? It's been months. And what could he expect me to say? Does he really think we're friends? That is too long a story, and I just had a heart flutter amidst my pizza consumption. I'm a bit taken aback and shall now move on. Cost of the War in Iraq
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