Mood: ‘Knew-Clear’…

 

I’m perennially short on the fuse; and my mates would felicitously agree.

When in form, robust waves of near blinding acrimony interspersed with a loathing incomparably vile wash over my better sense rendering me incapable of etiquette.

I’m not frightfully opinionated but if egged on, have been known to unleash a diatribe so contemptible – scathing or any other adjective deployed to express its aftermath, would almost always miss the mark.

I loathe familiarity. Especially when it’s at the behest of slick, charlatan Neanderthals, masquerading to be gentlemen of virtue; in particular those who believe themselves to be Adonis incarnate.

I’ve had the annoyance of knowing one such egregious earthling. He made my acquaintance via a popular networking site I patronise. Bearing insufferable fools is a forte I could sweep the Olympics for – and I didn’t make too much of an exception here either.

His indefatigable endeavour to arouse my interest in his decrepit self fills me with dementia bordering on revulsion. A mover and shaker of sorts, his opinions on philosophy and the erstwhile strife called life are at best, hilarity inducing on days when one is suffering from post-mental-partum.

(Imagine partaking of a laborious monologue about the inconvenience of a jet setting lifestyle and its hiccup inducing interruptions on one’s social calendar. Precisely)

And being part of a networking community shouldn’t have to translate into sexual innuendo replete with oblique insinuations. I’ve been at the receiving end of interminable texts and frequent citations on my personal. I’ve been ambushed with vomit-inducing monologues on ambivalent thoughts that constantly lurk in the recesses of a very demented mind with little thought as to the well being of mine.

But what really brought matters to a head-on was an exchange of dialogue earlier this evening. As it happens, we’ve been acquaintance-ing for a little over two years now. Since he imagines himself to be the man fatale of the flipped-out, frequent bouts of God sent laconism provide me with the much needed reprieve I would normally require to survive the blab moonlighting as intellectual repartee.

I’m not blemish retentive and forgot how we’d made each other’s acquaintance (ostensibly making mental notes to divest my personal from the calamitous portal where it all started). This, evidently, didn’t wash down too well with Lord Falkland – and he actually had the temerity to air his gripe (also mentioning that ‘I write’ only when I’m written to…Duh?)

 I’m beat-up about playing politically correct. Being cordial to another shouldn’t always have to be an exercise in building bridges…especially if one’s hardly ever using them. I’m not entirely certain if asking an honest question warrants soul-searching and agenda-jostling. For someone who rarely ever mandates a forum to air grievances, I find myself sucked into one for the present.

I’m not certain if this dialogue will lead to very much. Yes, t’is true – I write only when I’m written to. I’m not imbued with verbal diarrhoea and prefer not unleashing its corrosiveness on others. In short, one shouldn’t have to try so hard. Else maybe it isn’t worth the effort any which way.