Pretty please with sugar on top
I always feel like a dick asking people to do things. Whether it’s trying to politely tell some old hag at the supermarket that she’s just rolled her granny trolley over my foot and would she be ever so kind as to move it a bit, or putting up links to something I’ve written and requesting that people have a read of it, I don’t know how to correctly handle myself.
With the old lady, I usually defer to a muttering of variations of ‘cunt’ until she eventually gets the idea and calls me ‘love’ as she moves on. Sometimes I muster up all my strength and rescue my foot physically, hoisting the trolley into the air like an adrenaline-fuelled parent rescuing a baby trapped under a car. (That always gets me… it’s as though there’s an epidemic of babies crawling under cars.) Promotion-wise, I meekly put a link and some vague reference to the subject and let it go at that.
This probably also explains why I was never any good at political canvassing. Once, working a campaign that we knew was going to lose, the person I was canvassing with (I’ll leave Evan’s name out of it) and I just walked back to his house and hung out for a bit until it was time for us to be picked up by the campaign manager. I think we even made up responses for all of the addresses. People were going to end up with lawn signs being delivered whether they liked the guy or not.
Despite all of this not liking promotion and asking people to do shit, I’m a bit of an attention whore. I really like seeing that people have read what I’ve written. I enjoy looking at the little statistical bar graph provided by WordPress. Site metrics are that happy little bit where the math geek and the attention whore can come together. Like this:
But I have trouble asking people to read my shit. I think I want to hide the fact that I’m an attention whore. There are so many people out there screaming for attention, and I don’t want to be like that. So instead of screaming, I just link and go. And then get upset that my bar graph isn’t going up enough.
So what do I do? Maybe I shouldn’t pretend I’m not an attention whore. Maybe I should go in for some self-help bullshit about learning to be happy with myself (why do self-help catchphrases always sound vaguely like masturbatory euphemisms?) and go around saying love me love me love me read my most perfect blog post ever in the whole wide world. But I won’t. Because, again, I’d feel like a massive dick.
There are a lot of generally negative personality traits bundled up in me, and I’m becoming more ok with that. There’s not much point in pretending that I’m some selfless saint of a woman when that myth would be smashed to fucking bits within 10 minutes of meeting me. I’m a selfish, demanding, perfectionist attention whore. Nice to meet you, though probably not because I’m probably already judging you. It’s what I do. I’m a cunt.
But, for all of that, I’m even more of a cunt to myself. I’m already picking fault with what I’ve written, and considering deleting this whole self-obsessed bit of nonsense.
Only, if I do that, I won’t be able to see how many people are going to read it. (Though I do expect that most views are critical, looking for ways to point out what a horrible person I am, catching split infinitives and badly formed sentences.)
So I’ll post this, put the link up a few places, and hope that little graph makes me happy. Like a dick. (That sounds wrong. Very wrong. I’m saying that the graph and the happiness I derive from it makes me a dick, not that dicks make me happy.) Oh fuck it… here’s what I always think of when I start blabbering on about misguided and cunty self-esteem.