Do You Smell That?

I am not a naturally likable person. I just don't know how to be and furthermore, I don't think I care to be. I spent many adolescent years worrying about what all my wretched, pimply-faced peers thought. Many nights were wasted in torment. Stressing about the gelatinous form that is the pubescent social life. It was easier for me to plan out my wardrobe for a month than it was to fathom just how to stay in cheerleading, prom-queen, backseat slut, Suzy-lou's good graces.

It's because of this that I never formed a real personality. Instead I have this wavering existence that is just me and my insulting nature. I'm really good at being insulting. It's like my thang. In all other things I'm awkward except in being insulting. You can stretch it and call me witty but wit gives way to pith more than not. Salt covered remarks fly about on a whim and if I have to restrain them it's like my head will literally explode.

Funny thing is? Most people don't like to be insulted. They love to hear others being insulted but it's only a matter of time before my verbal katana is turned in your direction. That makes my social life scarce. So does lack of effort.

Slapping false smiles on my face is difficult. I know how to do it but if it manages to come across as believable, then I come across as being shallow. And while I'll accept the shallowness, I cannot accept soul less. It's like my soul dies when I'm being nice just for the sake of being... nice. And yes, bleach blondes with fake racks have souls. Just very tiny ones.

That's not to say I'm not a naturally nice person. I am. I know for a fact that I have a big heart and I care very much about those around me. Sometimes I care so much about others, I can lose all care for myself. Caring for others becomes "me". What I don't care about is what you did last week or your fuzzy pink sweater. Instead, my brain is buzzing with some quick remark of what an asshole that scarf makes you appear to be. Before training my mouth to slow down my brain, I turned people away in droves. I don't care about smiling at your spouse at a work function and making small talk. If the small talk doesn't come naturally to me then I don't try. If I feel an ounce of judgment in your presence, well, I really don't try. If I feel you are bullshitting me then I'm repulsed and the smile fades fast. Unfortunately, I have a bullshit meter that must have been designed in the private sector because government funding couldn't pay for something this high functioning.

I am my own enigma in the fact that I've been told that I'm a "smiley" person and also that my son has my smiling mouth.

I'm poor at telephone communications. I can't think of any reason to stay on the phone for any length of time that runs past the point of my call. I don't like to recall the events of my day. When my day is done I remember it as being fine and typically move on. The exception to this rule is my husband. I share all things small and big with him, much to his dismay. I like to think of it as the gift that keeps giving. He probably thinks of me as the nag that keeps nagging.

I can turn on sunshine in the blink of an eye. I can be charming and wonderful. I can be a social butterfly, flitting about a room, warming all with my smile. But if I'm not feeling it then I'm a thundercloud raining on your smiley people parade.

So when I hear little conversations around my office that bounce about their plans with each other for the coming weekend, talks of casseroles and potlucks, the teenage girl in me that wants to be accepted is instantly wrought with worry and thoughts of "why isn't that me?" and then I remember.

I'm tired.

And awkward.

And I smell bullshit every where.