I put on my leather jacket the other day, adorned in pins that I believe represent some amount of my thought process. Since I brought it, it's become a sort of trademark of mine.
And I felt wrong. A sort of odd disgust happened when my arms slipped into the sleeves and it gripped my shoulders. It felt wrong.
I'm also dealing with situations that thrust me into worlds I've never delved in, namely being a leader. Leading I can do well. Feeling comfortable doing so is another issue entirely. Why?
The cynicism I apply to myself, a clever ruse to both maintain self-awareness and provide a humble foil against my naturally pretentious style of speaking (Like right now), has started working against me. It's bumming me the fuck out. Instead of certifying that my own faux-narcissism doesn't destroy me, like a cancer, it's defected against me. Unable to keep control, I ravage myself in moments where it was not required. Leaving me feeling like a failure in situations where there was no success to be had. Like losing a race that never happened.
And so as I lead, or even as I do anything I've never done before, I destroy myself for understandable errors.
And when I do succeed, I don't allow myself to enjoy it. Which means when I rarely do, I don't know how to properly do so, and end up alienating everyone when I sound like an arrogant ass.
In an effort to salvage what little self-esteem I have left (And, in the future, properly perceive success and failure), my psychology has opted to temporarily avoid the levity of humor and seek actual building blocks for confidence, instead of painting ridiculous caricatures of it to contrast the grotesque moments of self-doubt. This requires that I avoid practicing cynicism. And what is this blog, at its heart, if it isn't a picture of toothy-smiled cynicism?
We'll pretend like this never happened in the next blog. Well, no. But we'll get back to poetically denouncing the injustices of sperm during nutbustings. Eventually.