I do this thing where I reflect on how I think others might view me. I'm constantly doing this and it has come to annoy me. At no point will I ever escape negative opinions from others. These are inevitable, no matter how hard I reflect and attempt to change. So why should I care that I talk too much about myself or that maybe I'm a little snobby. I'm not even that great of a friend, forgetting birthdays, breaking promises... But I know what I like: comfortability. The ability to have comfort. My comfort zone is about 4 feet in diameter with a soundproof, bulletproof, shatter-resistant surrounding pane of clear glass. I can see out, but people can't see in. It's here that I am me. And the door is mostly always open, except when I am walking down 7th Avenue or in dark parking garages. People are welcome into my space, given that they are clean and quiet. Hell, I'll even put out some chips and homemade salsa. Go nuts. Just don't spill. Or annoy me. Is this a disease? Do I have social anxiety? Or am I making diseases up because I need an excuse to be spoiled? No one can have their way all the time, except for my grandmother, whose even allowed to call people fat to their face without it being rude. So is it discipline to accept that which I cannot change? (ie. that the kitchen gets messy when you cook in it, complete organization is as mystic of an idea as nirvana, and nothing will ever fully be in your autonomous control.)
At the end of the day, after the never-ending struggle to be the cleanest, smartest, funniest, most humble, perfect, and optimistic person I can ever be, my couch offers up it's coziest corner, and gives me a moment or two to contemplate if I am or will be any of these things and if it's worth the self-doubt, the shrouding of my lack of confidence with an overly confident coat of witty comments and low-maintenance appearance and the crazy self-conflicting thoughts that put me on a daily emotional roller coaster.
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