I Harp

For Sunday, September 14, 2008

I can be a real pain in the arse at times. Yes, I am Mr. Nice Guy much of the time, Mr. Happy, Cha Cha Charlie, “Hey, how ya doin’?” but those who know me beyond casual acquaintance can loudly and convincingly attest that I can be a major botheration.
Here’s a phrase I hear a lot. “Oh, God. There he goes.” Or “Oh, no, not this again.”
I have faults. I carry around quite a list. Sure, we all have them. It’s what makes us human. To varying degrees we are all aware of our faults, and to varying degrees we all give a rat’s pitute and try to do something about them. Some of us are always trying to be better, others seem to relish their faults and flaunt them, others shirk and cringe and beat themselves up, and some have given up, attributing their imperfections to inherent cosmic chaos.
I get the distinct pleasure of turning mine into a couple of bucks by writing about them in the city paper.
I was lying in bed this morning, 4 a.m., awake while the rest of the house slept, contemplating my psyche, coping with a touch of insomnia that I’ve had all my life, doing some self analysis. I took to wondering, what makes me annoying? What bothers even my closest friends? What traits do I have that might make my wife harbor deep-seated, unspoken urges or fantasies to divorce me and run screaming from the building? What might make my own siblings say, “Steve’s a great brother, but…”?
One thing: I harp. Things stick in my craw. That’s a flaw. It’s hard to say what the thing might be, because there are so many, but when something bugs me, I can’t seem to shut up about it. I can’t leave it alone. I go on and on, moaning, whining, repeating myself, emailing, battering people’s eardrums with my grievance du jour. I analyze issues from 211 sides. I obsess. I obsess to excess, if that’s possible.
“Oh, God. There he goes.” Or, “Oh, no, here he comes.”
I’m immune to teasing and roasting. That’s not a flaw. I can sit there and let people make jokes at my expense for hours on end, and laugh as sincerely as they do. I have no problems being the punch line for my own weaknesses, frailties, and incapacities. But,,.

If someone questions my honesty, or my integrity and fairness, or my dedication to a mission, that eats a hole right through my brain. That upsets me at the cellular level. That drops a hot rock into my cauldron of emotions. My family and friends are then stuck listening to me wail.
Plato says everyone tries to do what’s right, always. Thus, I get hurt when someone accuses me of not trying. Conversely, I have to accept that they too are trying when they question my character. I guess that’s why things stick in my craw. I can’t find easy answers.
Another flaw, maybe, or perhaps it’s just an annoying contradiction: I’m an absolute and total skeptic. I doubt everything, and I hate liars and cheats. I’m always questioning people’s honesty, integrity, fairness, and dedication to their missions. My shenanigans detector is welded on high alert. I’m ever watchful for the double-deals and the crisscross. However, I have few if any firm convictions, of that I’m certain.
It’s a muddy irony. If I adhere to Plato’s belief that everyone’s trying to do what’s right, then what’s to be skeptical about? Well, Plato doesn’t distinguish between doing what’s right for one’s self or group, and doing what’s right for mankind. Taking the last slice of pizza is good for the grabber, but what about the rest of us? I’m sure mass murderers and village pillagers have rationales. Conversely, what few things can be done that are good for all mankind? Can everyone be a winner?
I’m a slob. I’m messy. I don’t pick up after myself. I leave my clothes on the floor. I leave books and papers on my desk until I can’t see the surface anymore. I let plants die. I water them inconsistently. I forget things. I go to work without my lunch. I miss meetings. I leave my coats in restaurants. When I can’t find things in the kitchen I think they were moved intentionally to drive me nuts. I blame my wife when I can’t find socks that match my pants. I don’t buy her anniversary presents. I put off glaring chores, like patching a gutter leak, or spraying for ants, or getting that plastic bottle out of the bushes in front of the house. I play the television too loud and use closed captions on movies. I chew my fingernails. I forget to shave my ears. I leave my shoes in the living room. I leave cups and saucers next to the couch. I buy three of everything because I can never find things when I need them, then I put them all in one drawer.
To be continued…