07/27/2007 Tyler, My Eyes Are Open

07/27/2007 Tyler, My Eyes Are Open

As someone who is isolated and tends to communicate little, I have a natural hypersensitivity to other's gestures. I tend to interact via these gestures rather than the traditional method of conversation. Thus I exist in somewhat of an Underground apart from Dostoyevsky's UM, I exist in the shadows of perception. In this way I know people better in some ways, but worse in others. That is, I can isolate their actions from their rationalizations better than most, but cannot predict what they will say as others can. Nor do I know mundane details, like their favorite ice cream, or their pasts.

I seldom go anywhere other than work and out to eat. Because there are few women where I work, any possibility of love comes from restaurants or shopping. Much of this is to my detriment, as I don't spend much time with the opposite sex and my spirit is somewhat weaker as a result. I feel less in general. The love that others have inspired in the past is a memory. And even when I think of it, I only remember the words I used to describe it, seldom do I remember how it felt. When I go out these days, any young woman who is above-average looking appears to me as a goddess, anyone else as an obstacle. That's cruel but I have a hard time changing it, and it becomes difficult to make friends as most people are the obstacles. And most women who I am attracted to intimidate me. I end up not looking at them rather than follow my natural inclination to fawn over them as a means of preserving my dignity. Of course, I must also confront the knowledge that I am an obstacle to many of the people I run into, including many of the women I am attracted to.

The one I have the biggest crush on now is a Waitress at a take out restaurant near where I work. I first noticed her because she had such a great memory. I also noticed her appearance, and of course she is lovely, but only upon seeing her many times could I fully comprehend her loveliness. She is small, with small, delicate shoulders and little tits, with a lovely shape to her face. She is completely misplaced as a waitress. But I am sort of trapped in my solitude with my need to interact with her. Sometimes she remembers my name and asks me how I am, and I feel alive. At other times she gruffly asks, “Can I help you?” and I feel like I don't matter. It seems like this often depends on her level of relaxation, where if the place is crowded she hurries me and if not she engages in more casual conversation. But of course, it always hurts to be treated like an obstacle. I would love to put my hands on those delicate shoulders and kiss that lovely face.

There's this one guy at work that I keep tabs on. He's funny. I think I mentioned before that I believe he's snooped around my computer when I wasn't looking. He reminds me of my father in that he has a bad temper, though his is not to the same degree. He is emotional, and this sometimes causes him to act selfishly. He is also very organized, extremely talented, the hardest worker in the place, and the only one who seems driven to establish his own individual identity. I have been wondering, though, if we would clash. This seems inevitable, as we are conflicting personalities; he with his temper and need for organization, me with my curtness and subversiveness. We rarely talk, only saying “good morning” and “good night”. But I'd be surprised if that lasts. He has yet to find a way to confront me that jives with his values, and a guy like that will likely never confront me unless he really believes he's right. So it's a stalemate for now. It will be interesting to see how it plays out.

People tend to make simplistic judgments on others, we all seem to think we can read each other. People often see my quietness and interpret it as weakness. When they take me on, they are often surprised at my ability to defend myself, and either respond by taking offense or trying to ally themselves with me. Snap judgments is one of the greatest obstacles to any human interaction, be it in the workforce or in romance. We all fear people who may hurt us, and this causes us to analyze anyone we meet and intuit, or interpret, anything we see. Often this leads to judgments that are not based in any kind of reality. Nice guys do, sometimes, finish last. Abusers seldom lack people to abuse, lest they be robbed of their moniker. Are human beings cursed to misunderstand each other by always seeing through the lens of fear? But then, I have my own defenses as well.

Usually when i say hello to someone I try to make eye contact first. This is due to the fact that historically when I say hi to people I startle them. I am so quiet that people don't expect me to say anything. But for this guy I'm keeping tabs on, he often averts his eyes when I come in, and I can't get him to make eye contact. Sometimes when he says hi he sounds angry, like he'd like to tell me off. Other times he seems genuinely happy. It's hard to tell what's coming next. I'm not really afraid of what will happen. But I find all this interesting. Guys who get mad easily tend to be guys who have a lot of fear in them. Anger covers fear, and his organized approach and tendency to believe in rules solidifies that impression. If he is snooping in my computer, this could be an opportunity to have some fun.

Suppose, for example, that emails kept conspicuously on the desktop (he's an older guy and may not find them otherwise) reveal that I am the member of a secret organization that has stolen a device from the US Government that can control the weather. Then suppose that we are going to strike the US by sending Hurricanes into Florida (if you're thinking that that's going to happen anyway, that's the point). Then suppose Al Gore is working for us, trying to convince people that this is all due to Global Warming, not terrorism. He'll buy that, he's conservative. You get the point.

It may be because I am an outsider inside their walls, or it may be because I am so damn weird looking, but whenever I walk into a room people get a look on their face that is a combination of witnessing a circus spectacle like Siamese twins and being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Silence allows people to imagine the worst, and they often do. What am I to them? A serial killer? Someone who can see into their mind and know the truth about them?