"All that is human melted with the sky and faded out beyond the mountains and I felt, as I feel - is it a paradox? - that a man can never find or need better companionship than that of himself."
From Desert Solitaire, by Edward Abbey
I like myself. I really do. I like the unique individual that I am. Whatever it is about me that makes me unique - probably my superior intellect - tastes pretty good. I just don't know how to integrate that unique individual into society. But I am forced to, and therein lies the pain.
When I am alone, when I am in my head with no other human to negotiate - shit, man - I like that guy. I may not love myself, but I definitely like myself. I'd hang out with me in a bar anytime.
The problem comes in when I walk out the door and I have to interact with, speak to and tolerate - those other people. The ones who judge me, don't listen to me - I mean really listen - the ones who bore me with their inconceivably selfish considerations, whose disingenuous force fields crash into my impregnable defense shield - Jesus Christ, man - it takes so much fucking energy to deal with them it's no wonder I fall asleep after one whiskey at night.
I got another problem, though - I don't pay attention to the voice in my head that likes me. Because I am too busy hating on my life to realize that I like myself. So I gotta deal with Outside The House me, I Hate My Fucking Life me, and I Like Myself me. That's three different me's rolled up into one head. Sybil faked her shit; my shit is real.
Outside The House me, and I Hate My Fucking Life me, operate on auto pilot. They are just out there doing their thing without my approval. They don't even ask permission. Fucking disrespectful. And what they do muddies up the waters. Like spreading vasoline onto my eyeglasses. The real me is off in the distance looking pretty shaky.
Who is the real me? Fuck if I know.
The worst part is that I Like Myself me tends to take a back seat to the other two. Which is a shame.
Because he's a pretty cool guy.
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