I've often said that I feel as I was made up from the pieces left over after God made everyone else, kind of like the scraps of dough you reform after making a batch of gingerbread men.
But those aren't the "human pieces" I want to talk about. I have a bunch of history, a lot of things that I've done or that have happened to me, and I don't think there's anything special about that. What may make it different, though, is that I have this notion that somewhere in there are buried the important things that make me unique, that make me me.
Some philosophers have considered the self to be nothing other than the unbroken string of memories possessed by an individual. I'm in no mood to delve into that, but when I meet someone and we start talking I'm aware that I hold a hand full of cards, each one containing my recollection of an event in my past. I can tell him about the hiking trip on Mammoth Mountain or I can relate the camping trip in Happy Valley. I have tons to choose from, and I sometimes choose what to say with care.
Because I have this theory.
I have an obsession with being understood. It borders on the maniac. I've never sat down and done it, and never will, but I sometimes think that if I could work it out I could create a Russell Cliff Notes. It would be an abbreviated version of my life, one that contained the essential events that shaped and formed me, and upon hearing it anyone would understand why I am the way I am. They could hear these stories and know me.
As it stands now, I often divulge things from my past that I'm not sure if they're meaningful or not. I'm not sure anyone needs to hear them, or even if I need to say them. I suppose my take on what happened may give a clue to how I perceive things, but I'm sure there's a better example I could have used (most things that happen to me happen often. I'm a slow learner).
I'd like the efficiency of having a small handful of events that will reveal me, that would explain why I have this "factory irregular" label.
Human Pieces
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3 comments:
wow. i wish i could've explained that so succinctly. i am definitely one of those people who over-shares. i tell people way too much and way too much detail about my past because somehow i hope that it will explain who i am and why i got to be this way. but i lack filters on what i tell. i figure the more info they have the better, but i know that's not true. in fact, it tends to drive them away (wow, she's fucked up, better run...). and i'm starting to wonder if the fact that i was, say, married to a bipolar heroin addict really tells as much about me (that i want to say) as how i act with my friends or what i love to read...
we're all factory irregulars. some of us just have more visible irregularities.
That was nice of you to say, Lauren.
I think another problem is that some people "need" to hear some shit, and some would react to other things.
If I heard about your marriage, I'd probably tell you stories about the bipolar drug fiend I knew, but what would that do?
I just wish there was a key thing in there somewhere...and I could find it.
a key, yes. that's what i keep searching for, too.
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