I hate this line now because it is evil

[channonyarrow]

I forgot to mention that I made a new year's resolution (which normally I don't, since, hey, I'm already perfect.)

I will answer the phone whenever I am not actively engaged in something that prevents that. I will not only answer the phone when I know who is calling. I will respond to voice mails the same day, and work emails the same day, and try to turn around personal emails within a week.

It's either that or Prozac.

Comments

[channonyarrow.livejournal.com]

I consider being in a conversation with someone else to be a reason not to answer the phone. But one issue I have, and one that's escalating, is the belief that ALL phone calls, emails, LJ comments, ANY contact whatsoever from anyone other than about six people is really going to be them saying 'And by the way, you suck and I hate you, so die, you putrid whore.' It's not rational at all, but it feels like the more I let myself believe that's what people are going to say to me the easier it is to believe that's what ALL people are going to say to me. Whether it's self-doubt or something else, it's not a trait I like, and I have to work on changing that. But since I hate medication, even though this might actually be a social anxiety, I'm going to have to work on it myself rather than by taking a pill for it.

If I'm ignoring the phone or the email because I'm actually busy, that's one thing, but ignoring it because I believe the person on the other end just called me up to spit vitriol in my ear? That's another, and a bad one.

I'm gonna get it in the neck for this one.

[hammerheadshrk.livejournal.com]

Have you actually received ick from people? If not, then yes, you're crazy, but I know you will work it out. You have been kind and steadfast, from what I've seen, and try to fight the good fight for those you love...to a point.

I'm not so sure your paranoia is entirely unmitigated. Let's face it, you're a pretty aggressive person. I would bet grocery money that there are more than a few pissed-off, hurt, angry people in your wake. So the thought of having an angry cadre of un-fans who would love to cut you isn't unreasonable. You wield your intelligence and talent with words like a weapon, from what I've seen; and seem to feel that anyone not similarly gifted deserved to be mowed down.

Being a walking typhoon does come with a price. There isn't anyone you won't lash out at given the right circumstances, and for you 'right circumstances' are pretty cheap. Most people have probably figured that out by now. You are so smart that I think the world frustrates you, with people unable to reason, use logic, or keep up - it's so easy for you, you move so quickly while those around you crawl. I can't imagine being you without imagining a quiet simmering rage.

I'm not even someone you game with, or edit for, or provide customer service for. I think you're brilliant, creative, and hardworking, but I would never want to be one of those people, because it is inevitable that you would hurt me. For you to expect a backlash from the people around you - even in your unconcious mind manifested as this phobic anxiety - makes perfect sense.

You're like a tiger: incredibly beautiful, but better from a distance, and inclined to be volatile when annoyed or bored. I've never seen a tiger that didn't look frustrated and out of place. They don't seem to have enough room no matter how big the zoo and exhibit space; they fill it with the pure force of their chi, and nothing short of hundreds of miles is enough. There's no safe place for tigers but out in the wild left alone.

Everyone hunts tigers, don't they? The reasons vary, but the hunt stays the same.

William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?


And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?


What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?


When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?




Yup. You're a tiger.