The Journey to Hearing Selectively
My ability to write a blog that enveloped history seemed impossible this month. So instead, you are getting “The Journey to Selective Hearing.”
When I first heard the topic of “Selective Hearing,” I kept thinking of the Lisa Loeb song, “Stay.” You only hear what you want to, and all that jazz. So, it made me think of all the relationships I ran away from, because I heard only what I wanted to hear (like I don’t love you enough), and not what was actually being said. But, after analyzing the song more, I determined that it did not really fit my thought process in the manner I thought it would. So I moved on.
My second topic was going to be a depressive fictional story about a suicidal girl that no one ever bothered to listen to. Its purpose was to represent how we ignore people around us that do not confirm to our societal standard of “well-adjusted.” It was supposed to be a suicide note read at the funeral of a young woman who tried to reach out to her friends and family about how depressed she was, but no one truly listened to what she said. Instead, they heard things like, “My job is going well” and “I am going on a date with a really great guy.” The first time they truly listened to anything she said was at her funeral, and only via her suicide note. Too little too late. Yes, it is morbid and depressive, but in general I do no aspire to be perky or overtly happy.
I cannot remember a time that I did not want to die. It seems as I was born with that desire, like it was some defective gene I could not avoid, nor change. Of course, no one wants to hear about someone wanting to die. I did try to tell you, all of you. My constant comments of “I want to die” or “I wish I was dead” were not merely the words spoken by some moody girl. I meant them. Each and every time. I know it was better for you to ignore me. To pretend that I what I said was not real, or that you did not hear me. Perhaps I verbalized my desires too much, and no one could take me seriously anymore. I was the girl that cried “Death.” I suppose you all viewed me as just that brooding, depressive friend, that in reality you want to tell “Go kill yourself if you are not happy,” but are too afraid, in case something did happen. Like being friends with me will somehow absolve you any guilt you would feel if I actually did kill myself, after being told to. So, instead, you ignore me.
Then I decided I would write some witty blog about how everything I hear is different from what is actually said. In other words, what you say I somehow twist into some perverted version of what you really meant. Unfortunately, I didn’t even begin to write that before I decided it just was not where I felt like going (at least this month).
My next move was to talk about how self-absorbed I am. How I never really listen to what people say, unless it somehow directly involves me. (Yet another excerpt).
What did you say?
I probably won’t listen the second time around either. Pretty much if what you have to say does not directly affect me; I only hear bits and pieces. They usually associate selective hearing with men, but I am extremely guilty of it. I may ask your opinion, but as soon as I do, I tune out. Really, it is only my opinion that matters anyways. I am a very self-absorbed individual.
So at this point, I gave up on all my preconceived notions on how this blog should be written. The following is my actual itinerary of the rest of the evening.
5:20 p.m. Drank a bottle of (1 pint, 6 oz, 9.5% alcohol) Middle Ages Dragonslayer Imperial Stout
5:45 p.m. Had a quickie with my roommate (don’t worry, he is my ex, so been there done that)
6:10 p.m. Ranted about same-sex marriage, and how I find it complete and utter bullshit that the government should have any jurisdiction over the marriage of two consenting adults. I chose to sign up as #15600 for boycotting marriage until ALL people can be married, via the National Marriage Boycott
6:20 p.m. Drank a bottle (12 oz, 8.3% alcohol) Flying Dog Raging Bitch Belgian IPA
6:30 p.m. Discussed my love of breasts. Seriously though, I truly do like breasts.
6:50 p.m. Drank another Flying Dog
7:00 p.m. Mocked myself. I went to the grocery store with the roomie and was picking out corn, and commented (loudly) how I was an AWESOME PORN KICKER (rather than an awesome Corn Picker)
7:30 p.m. Partook in grilled hot dogs and corn on the cob while watching Gavin and Stacey
8:15 p.m. Enjoyed some cherry cheesecake. Considered drinking the Nashoba Valley Dry Pear Wine, but opted to save it for another evening
8:30 p.m. Decided writing a blog Seinfeldian style (i.e. a blog about nothing) was a brilliant idea.
9:05 p.m. The End.