I Tickle Myself

Go over to Pith and read my hard-hitting interview with the Tennessee State Library and Archives. There’s smack-talk about Indiana! (Sorry, as a person who grew up in Illinois, I am contractually obligated to talk smack about Indiana, regardless of the actual awesomeness of said state.) And ghostly rumors about Andrew Jackson. And I try to instigate a fight between the TSLA and the State Museum.

And the first two paragraphs made me laugh so hard when I read them again, after all this time, that it made me laugh at me laughing already, which, is pretty hilarious, to be able to send yourself into a fit of giggles.

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A Blue Blanket

They say that sleeping beneath a blue blanket will bring you prophetic dreams. I’m working on a blue afghan as we speak. I haven’t fallen asleep under the little bit I have done, so I haven’t been able to judge whether it yet gives off even mildly prescient visions.

I think it’s hard to know what the right thing in any situation is, really.  I’m just going to be honest. It’s easy for me to get sucked in to political intrigue. Even the flea-fart stuff that passes for political intrigue in this state.  And it’s easy to get used. I used to marvel at how stupidly transparent the political machinations in this state were, but, in real life, it doesn’t have to be that hidden. The manipulations don’t have to be that secret. It just has to work on you.

It’s like being in a crowd at a sporting event. You can stand firm, but you don’t get anywhere. You can try to get in with a group that looks like it’s going where you’re going, but you can get swept places you didn’t intend. Or, you can get pushed to the front of the group, so that you are the wedge that gets them through the crowd, whether it’s in your best interests or not.

It’s true that everyone has their own agendas, all the time, not just in politics. But they all mostly have better seats, that they’ve held for longer than you have.

Sometimes, I feel co-opted.

Eh, it doesn’t really matter. This is just the mood I’m in. I was not going to bother with it, but then I wouldn’t have anything to post about this morning at all. And the thought of having nothing to post about is really depressing to me.

It’s funny. One of the things that drives me bananas about blogging is how people will get this idea of you in their heads and then hold you accountable to that idea.  Like, if they come to believe that you’re fair and consistent (ha, for example), and then they find you acting in a way that is not fair and consistent, they get angry. Like you’re a character in a TV show and you must do what the viewer has come to expect from that character or else it’s wrong; the rules of that (fictional) universe have been violated.

When, really, I’m just a person. I am inconsistent and fickle and I say that I’m going to be one way and I act another. I don’t always live by my own values.

It’s this weird thing, like you’re being vested with authority, without your knowledge, and then held accountable for being a shitty authority figure.

BUT I DO THIS, TOO.

To myself. Right now.

I’m sitting here thinking that I owe it to… I don’t know… y’all or somebody (ha, maybe I have a fiction of readers the same way I’ve seen commenters have a fiction of me) to have more moral clarity, to make decisions and stick to them, to be better than I am.

And, really, I get nervous when I know I can’t do that. I wonder if you’ll feel betrayed if I can’t pretend to be the character you’ve come to expect.

I wonder if I will feel I’ve let you down.

And this is kind of a weird thing. And it’s something I feel like I’m wrestling with all the time, in all kinds of contexts, lately.

I keep thinking to myself that I would like to just be my weird old self, to not feel bad about not being who people imagine me to be, to just be confused and fucked up and weird and happy with that.

To know for certain that that’s how I see myself and that’s how others see me.

Ha, what a fuck of a post this is. I have about 80 things swirling in my head that all seem connected, but which probably aren’t. And I’m not really interested in talking about them. I want to talk about how I feel about them.

But how I feel about them is a jumbled mess. And so this post is a jumbled mess.