Something that’s not quite there is better than nothing at all
I generally pride myself on not being much of a girl, of not being an over analyser. I am however, failing on this front at the moment. As dear Auntie Fish is only too aware of at the moment.
That tedious Mel Gibson film from a few years back where he can hear what women are thinking. I’d like that skill right now. Only not for women. Fuck it not even for all the male population. Just the one would do.
If any of my occasional younger visitors are reading this, I’d like to give you the depressing news that understanding other human beings does not get easier as you get older. If it did I would not be a thirty year old woman detailing step by step of a day over facebook chat to a friend and asking him what he thought. If anything it gets weirder. I don’t dislike being in my thirties I should add, afore the fear of aging ingrains itself. Actually I like it. I’m by and large comfortable with who I am. I may not have the body of a 17 year old any more, but I have more body confidence, and I know more about the good stuff it can do (as well as the mildly depressing fact that running for the bus near kills me every morning). I’m less bothered by complete strangers giving me funny looks.
I am kind of dissapointed in the ageing process not furnishing me with a greater ability to understand other human beings. That I can as a fully grown woman, be reduced to a bibbling idiot. That I can develop and hold an argument about social constructs, and yet can wholly and completely become baffled by one action of another.That I don’t feel any more confident in reading people now as I did when I were 15, 18, 25.
I am heartened that the hot intestines feeling (I have no idea actually where in the body it really is but you know the one I mean) is no less than it ever was, but frustrated that I have no more knowledge as to whether it is a merited feeling or not.
I have enough life behind me to know that the advice of Auntie Fish is wise, and absolutely what I know to be correct. I have not yet established exactly how I follow the advice easily though. But then perhaps that’s more about me, than my age. Perhaps I won’t be able to do that even when I’m seventy. I’m not sure whether I should envy those that can do these things easily. Whether that has losses as well as gains.
I still wouldn’t mind half an hour of mind reading skills…
Tags: heart, mind tangles
I guess I’ll have a clearer picture of the situ on Friday but you don’t strike me at all as someone who has trouble understanding other people. Well, except for arseholes, who by definition enjoy making themselves difficult to understand. I know these things are not always black and white (and I’m not saying this person is an arsehole), but you’re fabulous as you are so don’t you go changing one bit.
The thing about growing into yourself as you get older is something I’ve heard many a time, from Her first of all, followed by others, and I believe it’s more or less true (albeit in my case complicated by a lifelong condition that means certain abilities will never be what they could be).
Thank you
I have no intention of changing anything about me (‘cept perhaps my thighs), but hey ho you’ll get all of this on Fri. Especially if you’re bringing vino…
You bet your arse I am!
x
See, now, this is the one good thing about being with a woman rather than with a bloke. My crystal ball skills are somewhat honed, and I can usually tell what’s up even if the individual doesn’t even seem that intent on revealing anything.
I don’t envy anyone in a relationship with a blokey, cos I just never did get them… (funny, that).
I don’t think I’ll ever get any older than about 25. I think I stopped way before that mentally, mind.