Get Your Freak On

Several months ago, I made a startling realization about myself: I am a dinosaur. Somehow, the present world just can’t help but keep slapping my face with the fact that my knowledge on technological luxuries belongs in prehistoric times. It certainly saddens me that I hardly know anything about techie advancemnets (so designed to actually ease modern living, which could greatly intensify my procrastinating, the subject in life I practically majored in) and that I am unable to utilize the world around me due to my incapacity to cope up. Take, for example, Zip files. I have no idea what it actually is and why it even exists. What’re their functions in the computer world? What will it take for me to actually feel an overpowering need for one? What is it really for? Even more boggling to me is when there’s a file “zipped” inside a zip file. How did it get there and how will I get it out? And despite all this ignorance and humiliation, zip files are a mere percentage in the vastness of the computer world that I am clueless about. Okay, so I’m a stupid neanderthal. I get that already, to the point that I’m actually considering buying the complete collection of “For Dummies” books, in the hopes that it could somehow alleviate this distressing truth. But this article isn’t exactly about this. It’s just an extremely long and rather unnecessary prelude to the actual topic.

Recently, I made another realization about myself, a bigger, more thought-provoking realization, paralyzing, quite frankly, to any human being who should be capable of feeling remorse: I am a rock. I hardly feel anything the way normal people do, and I don’t mean it literally. I mean I am emotionally out of sync with the world. A cold, lifeless shoulder to society. Stoic as stoic can be. The likes of compassion, charity, et cetera, mean absolutely nothing to me. I say this because I just don’t care about the normal things normal people care about. In fact, one can even say that I just don’t care. Period.

Okay, so we’ve already established that I’m not normal, that I’m some kind of freak of nature that cannot feel. But my self-assessment keeps falling short on the going-beyond-that part, and that’s what really bothers me. And the worst part is, I could care less that I’m stuck with this kind of self-assessment. I’m absolutely fine with it. It’s just like that scene from Cameron Diaz’ uber chic movie, The Sweetest Thing, where Cameron’s character starts sniffing around Christina Applegate’s cahracter’s car, and finds that her nose had lead to Christina’s character’s decaying takeout of several weeks ago amidst all her other filth and rubbish of God knows what at the backseat, which she apparently had gotten so accustomed to already that her body just doesn’t respond with what would have been revulsion anymore, to the rotting nastiness and foul smells of trash over countless trash of her everyday life, which she had subconsciously built, take-out after painful take-out, inside the enclosed space to create a semi-private (yet undeniably disgusting) landfill that underneath is still her very own car. It’s exactly like that! So, am I trying to say that I have become the male embodiment of Christina Applegate’s character? Yes, but only in this given aspect, you know, the part wher I’ve gotten used to this facet of my life so badly that I am no longer bothered at all by the unnaturally weird fact that I DO NOT FEEL.

But going back to it, I can’t stop wondering why in the world am I unable to go beyond that fact? I’ve accepted that I have always considered myself as above the norms in life, why is this any different? Why can’t I be above this? Why can’t I over-rationalize this particular issue the way I usually do with the rest of the world around me? Could it be that when it comes to human emotions, I really don’t have another level? Could it possibly be, that with this newfound realization, I have now become the “Joey Tribbiani” of my own life’s tv show? In the hit WB comedy, Friends, Matt LeBlanc’s character, Joey Tribbiani, takes pride in having a one-leveled mentality. It’s actually the source of all his comedy in the show, because it, in turn, leads to a multitude of idiotic antics and ways (no offense to Joey fans). And if this is what I have become, then it is unacceptable! Don’t get me wrong, Joey’s a great, fun guy, but I refuse to admit that when it comes to levels of thinking, we are on par. I’ve always thought that I’m at least a Chandler, or even a Monica, but certainly not a Joey. I’m actually a hybrid of Ross, for his dorkiness, Rachel, for her cluelessness, Chandler, for his sarcasm and bitterness, and Monica, for her obsessive compulsiveness. See how well thought out I am when it comes to even the cast of Friends as basis of mere comparison for my own personality? It just proves how much time and energy I pour into overanalyzing such an utterly unimoportant aspect of my life. And for this, I simply would not be able to accept that I am stupid. That, my friend, is treason!

*sigh* I guess it should be okay to become stupid about some things. After all, it is healthy and it makes one human. But who would want to be human, when you can become a freak instead?

Great, so now I’m some form of earth completely devoid of human emotion, who managed to rise to the social rankings of stupid, but healthy, people, all the while still living in fricking pre-history. Great… just great.

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~ by iamnotfrodo on March 18, 2006.

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