April Showers
I’m salivating over the idea that I can push myself far beyond what I think I’m capable of. Don’t get me wrong, I think myself grand, and lovely, but not very capable usually. I have a built-in mechanism that, for some odd years now, has kept me from being arrogant and pushy and otherwise untouched by the world. Most hated it, but some loved it, because there are a few people that understood it and how it worked. There are a few people that understood that for me to think that way, and feel that way truly, meant that I was pushing myself farther than physical or emotional limitations, and for a person such as myself, it’s important. Days went by, I guess, and then weeks bled into years, and it was gone. And I won’t say that I became a shallow, empty husk of a person, but I certainly lost the edge I had way back when. I lost the arrogance, and the courage, and the drive. The unintentional knowledge that I was, in fact, the best at something. And while I still strive to be the best at physical pursuits, (a reason I never really played sports, and continue not to play many sports,) I do it anyway. I don’t take losing well. Never have, and never will. I wasn’t the type of person to lose often, though, and that’s an important thing to note. I won a great deal; so much, in fact, that the act of losing was a wound I simply could NOT get over.
Scene II, Act 1
It didn’t take much for me to realize that I haven’t lost that potential in myself. I spent my afternoon in my yard; my parents yard, shoveling six yards of soil to bare spots, in addition to a few other odds and ends, and I felt like I could do anything. Realistically, I should have collapsed. There was more than enough work for two or three days, but I didn’t take the time to see how long it could take. And that little bit was enough to tell me; to absolutely fucking scream, no less, that I was just as capable of being who I used to be. I delighted in just how conceited I could be, and was, because it let me know who I was. I was the best, and while sometimes I wasn’t, it didn’t matter because I was respected regardless.
I’m respected today, I suppose, but for entirely different reasons. I’m not respected for being the best, or the bravest, or the most ridiculously arrogant. I’m respected for loyalty, and honesty, and manipulation of a person or persons, (which hasn’t changed much, really) and that’s not good enough for me. I am capable of much more, and I’m kind of sick to death that I don’t exploit my own strengths more and take back more of myself as I should be; as I fucking am. Make sense? Probably not. It confused me some too, at first, but in the end it all made sense.
I’m not living to my potential, and that’s what it comes down to. And if that means that I am arrogant again, well, it’s just how it has to be. It won’t mean that I’ve grown up any less; it’ll mean that I’m accepting who I really am, and that’s absolutely the most important thing.
Guess this is something of a ‘FUCK YOU’ to everyone that doesn’t want to deal with who I really am, but I used to stand up for myself more and not be so nice, and that worked out pretty damn well for me back then. So fuck you, if you end up offended, and fuck you if you can’t deal with me, because I can’t be what I’m not, and I can’t fit any mold you put out there like clay. That’s not what I am, and I don’t want to play the game anymore.