|I talked to my neighbors today.
||[Jul. 7th, 2003|04:50 am]
I don't talk much in real life. It's one of those things where I never speak unless spoken to in the sense . . .|
1) If I'm playing consumer, those who work at the place of business are generally there to speak to me. I understand consumer, so I speak capitalist with ease.
2) If I'm playing myself, I do not speak unless someone speaks to me. They don't have to say anything at times. I use my senses to determine if I must speak to them at all, or to speak first.
Yet, you may ask, since no one knows what anyone else is thinking, how do you use sense, call it instinct, to determine?
Wellp, there's the thing. I'm so instinctual in certain ways that like a squirrel, I can't explain to you how to find a nut. I can find a nut, but I can't explain to you how.
I'm not perfect. I feel it if the senses were wrong, or if I said the wrong thing.
I've been the quiet-type in reality since a child, so it works for me. Others, like my Heidi, have to break the silence in constant presence. I thrive on it however, and that is for me, I guess. I can sit for days without saying a word. Heidi does not allow for this, as we communicate daily. I really feel no strong urge to communicate unless it hits me like the instinct of the squirrel who detects the nut in the blades of grass on a lawn. You just know.
I don't like to speak currently because it tends to drain my energy. I spoke against my will for over a year at an EDS account for GM's OnStar service. I found drunks a place for more booze in the outskirts of Georgia on a daily basis. And then, the atmosphere turned a Nazi color.
I did speak to neighbors today, however, and my next-door neighbor provided the lawn for me and Jim, the neighbor two doors down from me. Jim's a career private and gov't sector pro, and he's about had it with manufacturing industry. Many years spent with the armed forces, McDonnell-Douglas, and various other jobs revolving around the production of B-2s to the production of probably home appliances and probably motor vehicles.
Jim, the neighbor two doors down from me, mentioned the desire to find something better to do with himself. That's something I've realized at age 26. He's doing these things in mid-life crisis.
Does that make me a genius? Nope. It took a demented director of the company's account to make me realize that I was in the EDS/OnStar Final Solution. A female Adolf Hitler, and her Kampf was everyone who worked at the account.
Could I be that purpose, the person who hates and persecutes and terrorizes en masse? We're all of an evil nature. Sure, I could swirl into the abyss of destruction of all that is good. It's easy.
I like being a good person.
For the moment, I am like Jim, two doors down from me. I am a bit useless and tired of the uselessness of the past environments. I create my own purpose.
It's difficult to create one's own purpose. Most of the time, it's spent being silent for me, and I think about odd things, like if the begonia thief was a woman, and if so, was she drunk, and did she wear jeans, which are not as original at the moment as a purple skirt with black stockings and a red garter belt. That, to me, is an original thief. Plus, I wonder if she had some sort of difficulty, some inner struggle, that in a drug-induced fit of genius, decided to steal two potted plants' worth of begonias from a middle-class home.
Thus begins a story in a sense, if I chose to elaborate on it. It's probably much more interesting than some jackass from the neighborhood who got drunk and probably stole the shit on a dare. Or much worse, someone who plans a bigger theft that tests the reactions of the neighborhood to a couple little thefts, in anticipation that the next visit will be much more profitable. A criminal with a head-game major is dangerous, as we've seen in Hannibal Lecter.
Choose to live in times of danger and uncertainty.