Heard, Yet Not Listened to

Standing in Auntie Anne's Pretzel Asylum, my five-year (thus far,) food court living hell of a job, I roll my eyes at someone, anyone--everyone, at least once.

"What?" Or, "Huh?" Or, "I didn't hear you..." 

"Well I'm not fucking repeating myself so too bad," as if what I said was even slightly important or worth even my own remembering.

This is a memory from years ago, because now I don't say as much, and without prevarication, I couldn't give a shit about that job any longer than I already have.

Outside of work, where one has no choice but to communicate with friends and enemies and/or other, I hate going out with more than 3 or 4 people, unless one of them only knows me and I have an alliance--a partner--someone who will listen to and acknowledge me. Otherwise, I usually can't get a word in, or I get cut-off. I used to do that thing where I'd instantly crescendo my voice to near-full volume, competing with the other person that interrupted me like televisions blaring in neighboring rooms. Occasionally if I'm feeling so boldly confident that my words will be received well enough, I'll revert to this tactic, but screw it otherwise. If you can't take the time to listen to what I have to say, never mind. And if what you have to say is so God damn important that you can't humor me enough to listen to my 1-minute, "one time, in college..." parable, then you're a dick. I hear your stories and listen. I read your words and comprehend. I try to remember.

But alas, there's this blog. The blog is terrific for me, because I can get out exactly what I want to say without interruption. And you can read and stop to ask your friend what stupid color stupid lipstick she's wearing tonight without interupting me; pick back up your phone and keep reading if you do so please. If I'm so dreadfully boring or miserable enough that you begin to wish I'd put you out of your misery, you can quit reading. 

I see the Google analytics, you know. People do click the links I tweet, though I wonder if they do so, then close it out and come back later, skewing my numbers, giving me some false hope that someone gives a shit. In any regard, the view counts are "HA" to say the least, but I wonder, of those views on my posts, how many of you have ever even read this many 'graphs down? I doubt many make it this far, caught up in my blubbering attempts to sound prolific yet relatable all the while questioning my mental stability. I don't read the posts of my fellow writer peers, the concert reviews and interviews with performers, or when I do start to read, I get bored, so I can't be mad that you do this to me.

Know something; to those who will never read these words because they were bored at the first paragraph, or even if you've made it this far, none of this is for you. This is not to entertain you, nor make you feel better about you not-nearly-as-dismal-as-my-life situation; this is for me. For reading, I thank you, because if you've made it this far, you've given me a purpose; I want to be heard. But this is not for the audience, the audience is for me.

I wonder if I'd feel so disregarded still if I never knew the greek-be-damned origin of my name. Though now at least I feel like my words hold the weight of a goddess's, a gift, disbelieved or ignored, cursed to a meaning internal, and that's just fine for my conviction.