When I was a younger man than I am today, I thought there was something noble about being such a misfit. I no longer think that. I actually hate it. And, make no mistake, I am a misfit.
We’re not talking about the cool type of misfit either. I’m not a mall-bought fraud slumming it at vintage stores. That’s not a brag. Frankly, I wish I was. It would make things much easier. As it is, I just don’t have the money to shop anywhere else.
I expend a great deal of energy trying to fit in. Manners help me because they give me a set of social rules to operate within; a suit to wear.
But, when I get down to brass tacks, I am totally incapable of dealing with people. I always fuck up. Peoples’ feelings towards me begin as interest – I am a novelty – and then become contempt when they realize that I actually am what I appear to be. A novelty. One that wears off.
So I’m basically lost and very fucking lonely. The only people I can relate to are other misfits and that’s just on the basis of not being able to relate to everyone else. The only people I really enjoy are dead. It’s easy to pick up a book and have dinner with Cicero. He doesn’t require small talk. He doesn’t require anything.
1 comment
mona lisa
March 28, 2007 at 6:29 pm (UTC -5)
cheer up ol’ chap, all the good ones never fit in.