she puts the weights into my little heart
On Saturday night I got a text message which underlined my innate, unthinking callousness. I do things all the time which affect other people but I never really evaluate the effects of my actions on said others. Sometimes this means badly for them; sometimes for me. More often for me but sometimes it has repercussions for all concerned.
This text referenced an email I had promised to send, but never did. I promised to send it whilst in full possession of the knowledge that I never ever would. The reasons for this course of behaviour are manifold and none of them reflect well on me. Suffice to say that I frequently come across as 'sweet' to new people, when in fact what they are seeing is just a temporary repression of my natural vitriol; and while I can fling words around like the best of them and come up with something wildly hilarious and yet touchingly personal at the same time, I resent feeling like I am obliged to provide this service.
Coming across as sweet is nice, because this is what I would desperately like to be, as I outlined to my equally drunk and effusive colleague on Friday night. However this facade leads to heartache because it's false and underneath the surface tension I am cruel and amusing and good to my friends, but never sweet. When meeting new people I am constantly on tenterhooks because I know that the first impression is wrong and eventually they're either going to be disappointed or relieved. My best friends are the ones who are relieved.
I think part of the problem is that, somehow, I sound incredibly, incredibly posh. I don't have an accent anymore, I just sound rich. This, as we all know, is very far from the case. Having grown up in what could generously be classed as a 'ghetto', my stupid poncy voice is as much a mystery to me as everyone else but it does seem to lead some people into false assumptions regarding my regal bearing and excellent breeding.
Anyone who witnessed me dealing with my Xtreme nausea on Friday night, which lasted about nine hours and involved two bathrooms and a bin, knows that any blue blood in my veins is due to alcohol poisoning and not lineage.
This text referenced an email I had promised to send, but never did. I promised to send it whilst in full possession of the knowledge that I never ever would. The reasons for this course of behaviour are manifold and none of them reflect well on me. Suffice to say that I frequently come across as 'sweet' to new people, when in fact what they are seeing is just a temporary repression of my natural vitriol; and while I can fling words around like the best of them and come up with something wildly hilarious and yet touchingly personal at the same time, I resent feeling like I am obliged to provide this service.
Coming across as sweet is nice, because this is what I would desperately like to be, as I outlined to my equally drunk and effusive colleague on Friday night. However this facade leads to heartache because it's false and underneath the surface tension I am cruel and amusing and good to my friends, but never sweet. When meeting new people I am constantly on tenterhooks because I know that the first impression is wrong and eventually they're either going to be disappointed or relieved. My best friends are the ones who are relieved.
I think part of the problem is that, somehow, I sound incredibly, incredibly posh. I don't have an accent anymore, I just sound rich. This, as we all know, is very far from the case. Having grown up in what could generously be classed as a 'ghetto', my stupid poncy voice is as much a mystery to me as everyone else but it does seem to lead some people into false assumptions regarding my regal bearing and excellent breeding.
Anyone who witnessed me dealing with my Xtreme nausea on Friday night, which lasted about nine hours and involved two bathrooms and a bin, knows that any blue blood in my veins is due to alcohol poisoning and not lineage.
posted by Lucy at 8:22 pm
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