Tom Ramcigam (magicmarmot) wrote,
Tom Ramcigam
magicmarmot

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Remember those days in gym class when everyone was choosing sides for basketball, or dodgeball, or whatever, and you were the last one to be chosen? Remember how embarrasing that was? How crappy it made you feel?

Now consider that it was probably because you sucked at basketball.

It wasn't intended as an affront to you (most of the time anyway), it was more that the captain of the team wanted to hedge his bets with the most athletic/best players first. It was embarrasing and all, but as we grow older we tend to learn about such things and accept them with a bit more dignity. Yeah, I know that I'm not gonna be a boon to the basketball team Howie, I'm okay with you picking me last.

But occasionally we get gobsmacked with something where we're chosen last at something that we think we're pretty good at, or at least something in which we're reasonably competent. And then we start to wonder what if I'm really not good at this?

It's the stuff of legend.

I got triggered on this today from an e-mail where someone was mentioning that I seemed to be a lot happier in 2003, and I reminded him that it was before I had an inkling of the relationship problems that were coming.

I was never in love with you.

I always thought I was good at relationships. I'm a nice guy, I'm caring and supportive and forgiving and generous.

It was just easier to stay with you than to be on my own.

I'm honest, dependable, trustworthy, and I help little old ladies cross the street.

I never loved you the way that you deserve to be loved.

But I'm not really attentive. I tend to get absorbed in what I'm doing, and I lose track of time.

You have no soul.

I don't do well with high-maintenance women.

Thing is, I'm beginning to understand that all women are high-maintenance to some degree.

Yeah, I know, that's not something that's exactly exclusive to women. I have my own maintenance issues that I'm learning to deal with.

But it's that whole getting picked last thing that bugs me. If I really suck that badly at relationship stuff, I'd think that I'd have caught on by now. Apparently I'm an "acquired taste", like stinky cheese, or Irish wine. Something that you have to think about, to intellectualize before accepting.

Maybe he's not so bad.

Thanks for the ego stroke there, babe.
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