Obfuscation of Shame

   So my mind's wandering while I'm strolling up and down the snack aisle.  Maybe a random note progression or component from the Muzak triggered the firing of a recessive synaptic connection.  I dunno.  But I realized something while I was deciding between regular and low-fat Ritz Crackers.  I realized that I have a massive problem dealing with shame.

   I know.

   This coming from the guy who appearantly has no shame.

   But it shows itself in certain situations, like the low feeling you get when you know you should have done something fairly important, when it was on your mind and within your power and capability to do it.  But you didn't.

   I feel that all the time over whatever act of omission in whatever area of my life.

   To be honest, this self-revelation probably came during my face-to-face with my friend Joanie, detailing to her things I didn't think were important but were nice to know items to her (No, we weren't talking STDs.  Grow up, people).  Talking to Joanie was probably just the tip of the iceberg in how in the dark everyone was.

   Had I not felt so ashamed, I might've told everyone that I was out of work for four straight months last year.  Or that the only reason I didn't come home then was because Susan asked me to stay.  Or that I had truly hoped the pnuemonia she gave me in April of 2006 had killed me so I'd be irrevocably rid of her.  Or that I started posting videos rather than my thoughts so I wouldn't have to reveal any of that.  Or that I had been fired again from my job in Spokane.  Or that I get to be the unemployed 40-year old guy living with his parents.  Or that, after negotiating 2500 miles without a hitch, I ran up on the back of a SEPTA bus.

   I could probably think of more, but you get the idea.  I have a problem with perception.  That if I'm not seen to have my ducks in a row, I get all weird about it.

   Technically, by posting this, one could argue that I'm moving past it.  No.  Not even.  You see, I'm staying with my parents, probably until well into the Spring.  And if they didn't destroy my sense of self and emotional well-being during my stay last time, then they're looking to finish the job this time.  The best part is, not only don't they know what they're doing, but I was programmed to agree with them decades ago.  I saw this coming when I was still in Washington, and overstayed as long as I could, in the hopes that I could land my own place or a gig so I wouldn't have to be up under the Ancient Ones.  I failed to accomplish either, and when the opportunity presented itself again to escape Washington, I had a choice:  Continue my slow death a little bit everyday in Spokane Valley, or die a little bit everyday in Lansdowne.

   The choice was simple, because at least there's a Popeye's at 69th Street.

   You're probably thinking, 'why don't you just talk to them?'.  Well, you talk to reasonable people, not control freaks.  And if that's the price I had to pay to be back on native soil, well, then I have to dig deep into the psycho-emotional pockets, don't I? 

   But that's the point, being back on native soil, where I can commune with Them that are Groovacious.

   Part of the problem is the heavy-handed way I think of myself, that if I fail in any way, then I deserve what misfortune befalls me, regardless of the severity.  I would never, ever put that on anyone else, but have grown accustomed to doing it to myself.  Hmmm, where on Earth could I have gotten such a ghastly notion...?

   Regardless, that has to relax, if not stop altogether.

   Just so you know...From here on out, if I go five straight posts without saying how I feel or what I'm thinking, it's a safe bet I'm hiding.  But I stated in The Bunnytail Express post that it would end, and I meant it.  Let me know how I'm doing.

   And for those who were curious, I got the regular Ritz Crackers.  Fuck that low fat shit.

   There.  I said it.