I need a new outlet for all the stories my imagination creates to keep itself busy. Am i not social enough or am I too social for my natural self? Or maybe I still have PTSD from childhood and all the social “training” I had to go through to behave in public.
Take being taught to be polite and considerate as an example. Being considerate assumes that you predict what others consider to be considerate. Do they really care if you don’t step way aside in the grocery store isle? Maybe, but no one knows for sure. No one can read minds, but if we are all trained on the same rules then we can move around each other with less collisions and more confidence. So not true. So I was taught to be considerate, now I am moving out of every one’s way but no one is moving out of my way. Some people just charge right on past and actually get mad at me when their arm brushes mine. As if it didn’t take two.
I guess I took social rules too seriously to the point where I missed the phase when I was supposed to be bending the rules to learn which ones don’t really matter after specific ages.
I often ask myself why I care what someone else might think. I really don’t. But my imagination like to make up stories with real world people in them for its own entertainment. What if so-and-so really meant “this” even though quite clearly with the entire context of the situation taken into account, they rally meant “that.”
When my imagination goes wild it takes me along for the ride cycling through every emotion possible to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I usually end up coming right back to where I started, assured of my initial experience of the situation. But that interim week while I delve into the ether of my mind so afraid that what my imagination comes up with might be true is an emotional roller coaster that I prefer not to ride. I don’t like highs and lows, I prefer sustainable plateaus or gently rising slopes.
Maybe I am bored, or maybe I just need to finally learn how to actually write.