It has come to my realisation that while I participate in my mandatory social interaction of the day, that is, the occupation at which I am employed, I have ceased to give a fuck about what people think of me.
It’s true; I have not given a single fuck about how people perceive me since I started working there. Not even half a fuck.
This strikes me as rather peculiar; I have always been very generous with my giving of fucks concerning how I feel people view me. I happen to be rather self-conscious and somewhat of a peacock, and yet recently, in these last few months, my majestic peacock feathers remain neatly tucked away, and my self-consciousness is limited to occasionally checking if my zipper is up.
What the fuck, right? In fact, where the fuck? Where am I storing these fucks? Undoubtedly, they continue to be synthesised by my ego, but through what manner of psychological mechanism are these fucks being metabolised?
The question intrigues me, but I don’t actually give a fuck. Let me explain.
Paradoxically, the superseding of my past intentions of fuck-giving through conscious acts of self-advertising with complete and utter apathy have been more successful in obtaining the attention of others. By failing to offer a fuck, as opposed to wildly disbursing them, I am causing others to act strangely--specifically colleagues of the opposite sex.
Have an example: imagine a woman who is in her mid-to-late-twenties, intelligent, very clean-cut, does not believe in fashion, and frequently spends her time playing Dungeons & Dragons with males. I do not give a fuck about this woman. During my first encounter with her, she asked me if I had completed a task, and upon discovering that I had not only completed it, but thoroughly executed it, she became flustered and called me a “good boy”.
“Good boy”?
Two things went through my head: the first, this woman spends more time with canines than with males; and the second, this woman thinks I am a child. I decided to let it go; due to my genes, I appear youthful, which is a benefit as the members of my family are subject to a plethora of genetic diseases and subsequently die young--every gift has its curse.
Many weeks later, after my promotion, I interacted with this female again, this time on casual Friday. (Before I continue, I must mention that I dress sharply; one of the first things my mother taught me was that you don’t have to spend a lot of money to look good, but you better fucking take advantage of your looks while you have them. Despite the dress code being “business casual”, I prefer to dress for business.) As the woman sat down across from me, she smiled and, once again slightly flustered, said, “Well, you’re looking kind of cool today.”
I inquired aloud, “Kind of cool?” She didn’t react. I thanked her and changed the subject.
Have another example: There is a young woman from whom all of the men in the office steal glances. She is attractive, I can tell, but I am not particularly attracted to her. After a few weeks of knowing her and having a few interactions (once, she offered me a hug after I had had to deal with a very annoying case that required me to stay overtime, and she happens to live down my street and saw me walking to the bus stop one day), we managed to find ourselves within the same social circle.
During this time, I failed to give a fuck about her. I was friendly and civil as I always am, but unlike other males, I didn’t pay attention to her for absolutely no reason. We ended up becoming something slightly more than acquaintances, but not quite friends, and one day she stopped me as I was walking by her and told me:
“Nat, I luff you.”
“Oh,” I said, considering this. “Well, that is very nice of you. If you don’t mind me asking, why?”
“You are genuinely nice.”
“You mean, as opposed to insincerely nice?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Oh,” I said, turning to look at her boyfriend who was sitting next to her. He shrugged at me. “Thank you,” I said, and continued not giving a fuck.
Example the third: Females are always telling me how good my shirts look on me. First it was one girl, but she had a boyfriend, so I figured she was just being nice. And then another girl, and then another girl, and then another girl. Is this supposed to be an unspoken agreement to reciprocate positive feedback on fashion sense? Maybe they feel I would be more social if I felt I looked better than I did. I wonder if I give off “VALIDATE ME, FOR THE LOVE OF PIE, VALIDATE ME” waves. I thank them politely and carry on.
Hopefully, these are isolated coincidences, and my behaviour is not inciting women to act without logic. It’s strangely liberating, though. I think I shall endeavour to refrain from giving any more fucks in the future.
- Mood:
Neutral - Reading: Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
- Eating: Nothing
- Drinking: Nothing
Oh well
Tired
Lust
Adoration
Rejected
