The Social Structure of the Modern Middle Class

So far I have yet to understand how society works. Is it normal to feel like an outsider in every social situation? I do try, mind you, but even when I adopt the artificial smile and mimic the slight nuances of meaningless conversation, it still fails. I don't know if I detest the artifice of the whole act so much that it distorts what should be pleasant into something mocking and monstrous or perhaps I'm just really bad at it. Who knows...

In spite of my obvious failures in this regard, I have learned the surface rules of our disturbing culture:

1- Even if you don't care, pretend to with as much faked enthusiasm as possible.

2- Be shallow. We're talking REALLY shallow. Don't worry about the more profound and worrisome aspects of life. You should only discuss who did what to whom and how shocked you are by it.

3- Belong to a social circle. This holds true for parents who live vicariously through their children via sports, dance, or any other activity your children participate in only to seek a second of your approval. In southern states, these circles typically exist in Churches and these people can be some of the most unpleasant folks you'd ever encounter.

4- Keep up appearances. I do mean "keep up"... at all costs!!! You must look a certain way, own certain things, and your family must be composed of specific types of personalities. Otherwise, you're doomed. If your children show signs of independence, free-thought, or a taste for the odd; you must rewire them immediately into hate-filled, elitist, automatons. (For their own good, of course.)


As silly and infantile as these rules may seem, they are, nevertheless, standard for every circle. I wish the rest of you luck in shaving off the tidbits of your personality that won't fit nicely into said mold- I know that I've failed at it completely.

Beware! Self-Aware!

I've never considered myself old. I'm sure most feel the same way and then, one day, you wake up and joints pop and jar more than usual- a lot more than usual. You fumble around and finally make your way to the vanity mirror only to discover that the light you've always recognized is fizzling and your face seems a bit more plain. What a horrid feeling. You panic.

Am I really that person? The old maid who keeps too much to herself and who is, no doubt, too much or too little to love? Is there really a perfect mixture? I constantly wonder as to if there really is something off about me. Do I ask too much? Require too much? Do I really hold people to such high standards that they break their ignoble necks when they finally fall from the astronomically high pedestal I have placed them on? Surely not! Not I!!

I have given multiple soap-box speeches against the institution of marriage but why do I give them? I actually think I give them to hide something. I'm drowning my self-doubt with a simple face-saving technique; if you can't join them, beat them! Not that I'm not grateful that my past relationships ended, because I am- believe me. I do, however, wonder what other people have that I don't. Since no one has offered me logical reasons, I do exactly what a reasonable person shouldn't do; I make them up. I wonder why no man secretly plans and purchases an engagement ring for me... Well, there is no real wonder there; I can be a perfect nightmare of a creature sometimes- but who isn't?

Needed: A Purpose and a Hammer

It's comin' up a flood outside and here I am without a stockpile of pliable wood and no message from God. Damn...

Breaking Up Really Isn't Hard To Do

I haven't written anything in months. I'm ashamed of myself, really. Blank pages intimidate now instead of provoking me to fill them with whatever inane dribble that fills the catacomb of my mind. What happened?

I can faintly hear my muse. She never left, she only bides her time waiting on me to pull my shit together and get back in the game. She's particular about the company I keep. I've purged myself of undesirables. Perhaps that's why she's whispering to me once again.

My days are proudly wearing now. Hope is something I typically don't allow myself. Its always been a privilege for others but never applicable to me. Disappointment doesn't strike me as deeply as it once did. Its blade has dulled and shrank in lieu of a more suited affliction; happiness.

I don't know why I always decide to write in the early hours of the morning when sleep escapes me and the only thing that keeps me company is the hum of electronics. Everyone else is sleeping soundly as one should at six a.m. Why am I awake?

Regardless, I'll find my way back here more often and remain faithful to this lifelong romance.

So, Where's My Net?

I should be asleep. Typically when I post, that's the first and final phrase that runs through my mind.

I used to write constantly about my idea of love and what it would be like if I were to experience it (or not, whatever the case may be.) Needless to say, I'm doggy-paddling quickly to the deep end. What have I found?

Well, I'm not sure. I have experienced unequivocal bliss and heart-wrenching pain. I catch myself doing what I swore I never would. Never give anyone all of yourself, I would say, because you'll have nothing left. Was I right?

I have no idea. I'm fearful that I was correct in that observation because I have, fully, given myself over to someone and now he has the ability to crush me. I regret it sometimes. I wish I could have remained resolute in my outlook on the horrid nature of other people... but I didn't. I ask myself constantly if it was a mistake and if this will be my undoing or...

my catalyst for change. I suppose only time can tell and I hope that time is a kind mistress.

I'm grateful its only twenty-four hours...

Today was odd. Not odd in that way which warrants thrusting your hand into the nearest garbage disposal but odd because it felt wrong. It wasn't a headache or any other normal body pain that plagues most of us. It just seemed as if the entire day was a rough draft. Unfinished, unpolished, and shitty. Hopefully, its cut from the final product.

BFFH 2

BFFH 2

BFFH - 2
Requiem for my patience.

"What do you mean I didn't get my holiday pay?!?!"

"You were scheduled to work the day after and well, you didn't" says the manager type, fearing the worst (he plans ahead, this one)

"That's absurd! I was sick!", white-knuckling the hammer in my hand.

"I never got a doctor's excuse from you so I have to go by what I know.", he bumbles, displaying the first signs of a stroke or perhaps readying himself for the blow to the skull.

"A doctor's note you say? So if I get this note, I'll get paid then?", I say, trying to recall where I put the stamp I stole from the drawer in my shrink's desk.

"Yeah, I suppose you could."

I smell defeat. Blood in the water.

"Very good, give me an hour"

I grab my coat and head for the door, knocking over the precariously perched cup of coffee on the power supply near his desk and slam the door.

BZZZZT

I hope he didn't need his desktop for anything today. Meh, a small price to pay for a skip to my step.

*1 hour and 30 minutes later*

"I gave you an hour, you've been gone over an hour and a half" He burbles.

"No... I've been gone 4 cigarettes, 1 comic section, 3-15 minute phone calls, and a snow cone"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing... I have that note."

I hand him the crisply folded note that smells of kibble.

"Why is there a dog on the letterhead?" He asks and looks at me with that vacant expression I've came to love.

"What? Oh, he really likes animals." I say while looking at his caramel coated powercord.

"Well, I suppose everything is in order so I'll send off your holiday pay."

"That's splendid! I'm going to take a break for a while and wash your car."

"Wash my car? Why?"

"Will windex remove pig's blood?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, you should be more careful when you drive. Pigs running about unattended, you should be ashamed"

"Go back to work"

"I am working"

"I think I may call your doctor, just so I know this is legit."

"Suit yourself. I wouldn't bother him right now though, he seemed busy when I went into his office. Of course, this is the breeding season."

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind all that, make sure I get paid."

*Slam*

He rings the number on the letterhead...

"Southwest Drive Animal Hospital, how can I help you?"



He said "A" doctor, I can only go by what I know. :D


-Disclaimer- All people, actions, and animals contained herein are completely fictional and sputtered thoughts from the mind of the author. No one was harmed during the creation of this dialogue (unless, of course, I don't get my holiday pay)