Foot in mouth disease
For my next trick, I will attempt to to remove the foot from the mouth that is attached to the head that was removed from up my ass.
A couple days ago I was texting back and forth with the girl that is supposed to at some point give me my first tattoo. I don't know this girl very well, and I haven't talked to her about anything other than getting a tattoo and your basic small talk that you have with a person that you barely know and are surrounded by a bunch of people.
Anyhow, I normally see her on Friday nights, but this past Friday I didn't. Curious as to her whereabouts, I sent her a text asking why she wasn't there. She had a rough day and was tired, she said. I asked her if everything was okay, and she said it was, but that she wished she had a bullet (keep in mind, this is a text message conversation). I asked her if she needed a gun too, and she said the bullet wouldn't do her much good without one. I told her she could always swallow the bullet and save on the gun, and she said it would take too long.
Then, without thinking, I said something about how I used to want to put my head in the toilet and flush right before shooting myself in the back of the head so that my brains would clog up the plumbing. She didn't think that was funny at all. I really regretted saying that, so I apologized. She said it was okay. So I guess now everything is cool? I dunno. I've never had a serious conversation with the girl in real life or in text messages, but obviously that wasn't the right first conversation to be having.
When you start a conversation talking abut guns and bullets and stuff, you're opening a can of worms that takes delicate footwork to maneuver around. I'm more prone to charging right up the side of the hill than finding a more efficient way up the mountain. So I stepped right in to that one.
Even though I was just joking, There was some seriousness behind what I said. I always wanted to throw that little suicide fantasy into a book or a movie or a graphic novel. It came from a very real place though because the idea sprang up from a deep depression where I was trying to drum up the most fantastical way to off myself that I could conjure. It's easy to laugh about now, for me at least. Not exactly something you wanna tell someone you barely know I guess.
It was all a joke, and talking about shit like that is bound to make me say something I shouldn't. Perhaps she didn't get the joke, which isn't my problem. My problem is that, with this mouth and brain, I'm good at hurting people and not realizing I've said anything wrong until the damage has been done. It's something I've been trying to work on. I say too much or nothing at all and the middle ground is fiction. In this instance it was the saying too much when I should have been saying...what...I'm sorry you feel that way?
Right.
In the end everything is okay, but I've learned another thing about myself, which is that my social skills still leave much to be desired. It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks, if I don't like the way I talk to people, I should change the way I talk to people. They will react how they will react no matter what; as long as I'm okay with the shit that leaves my mouth, I can say whatever I want.
A couple days ago I was texting back and forth with the girl that is supposed to at some point give me my first tattoo. I don't know this girl very well, and I haven't talked to her about anything other than getting a tattoo and your basic small talk that you have with a person that you barely know and are surrounded by a bunch of people.
Anyhow, I normally see her on Friday nights, but this past Friday I didn't. Curious as to her whereabouts, I sent her a text asking why she wasn't there. She had a rough day and was tired, she said. I asked her if everything was okay, and she said it was, but that she wished she had a bullet (keep in mind, this is a text message conversation). I asked her if she needed a gun too, and she said the bullet wouldn't do her much good without one. I told her she could always swallow the bullet and save on the gun, and she said it would take too long.
Then, without thinking, I said something about how I used to want to put my head in the toilet and flush right before shooting myself in the back of the head so that my brains would clog up the plumbing. She didn't think that was funny at all. I really regretted saying that, so I apologized. She said it was okay. So I guess now everything is cool? I dunno. I've never had a serious conversation with the girl in real life or in text messages, but obviously that wasn't the right first conversation to be having.
When you start a conversation talking abut guns and bullets and stuff, you're opening a can of worms that takes delicate footwork to maneuver around. I'm more prone to charging right up the side of the hill than finding a more efficient way up the mountain. So I stepped right in to that one.
Even though I was just joking, There was some seriousness behind what I said. I always wanted to throw that little suicide fantasy into a book or a movie or a graphic novel. It came from a very real place though because the idea sprang up from a deep depression where I was trying to drum up the most fantastical way to off myself that I could conjure. It's easy to laugh about now, for me at least. Not exactly something you wanna tell someone you barely know I guess.
It was all a joke, and talking about shit like that is bound to make me say something I shouldn't. Perhaps she didn't get the joke, which isn't my problem. My problem is that, with this mouth and brain, I'm good at hurting people and not realizing I've said anything wrong until the damage has been done. It's something I've been trying to work on. I say too much or nothing at all and the middle ground is fiction. In this instance it was the saying too much when I should have been saying...what...I'm sorry you feel that way?
Right.
In the end everything is okay, but I've learned another thing about myself, which is that my social skills still leave much to be desired. It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks, if I don't like the way I talk to people, I should change the way I talk to people. They will react how they will react no matter what; as long as I'm okay with the shit that leaves my mouth, I can say whatever I want.