It’s a nice summers day, I’ve been walking, minding my own business; feeling good; feeling calm. In the park nearby there’s a busker playing Spanish guitar. I listen for awhile; he’s very good. A few minutes later I decide to make my way home, when who should happen along, but someone I know through another friend: The queen of humiliation.
‘Hello Jilly’ I say
“Oh hello how are you?”
‘I’m very well thank you, and you?’
“Oh fine, fine. Have you been listening to the Spanish Guitarist?”
‘Yes, he’s very good isn’t he’
“Good, only one of the sixth best in the world!” she exclaims with a chuckle.
“On the surface you might see that little snippet of conversation to be a fairly harmless exchange, on the surface, it is, unless you know Jilly that is.”
You see, the lady in question, has this very annoying habit of making you feel stupid, and she’s very, very good at it. So adept, at making sensitive men feel like arsholes is she, that I’m sure many actively avoid her. Some women get a buzz from humiliating men and I’ve met a few of them. So lacking in confidence, with so little love in their lives, are they, that this gives them a sense of superiority.
These people are transparent to the rest of us when we realise that humiliation will be something they lived through during childhood. In Jilly’s case, either from witnessing father humiliate mother, from being humiliated herself, or, as is more likely the case, both instances.
It really shouldn’t matter that this woman can do this to me: get under my skin in this way. It really, really shouldn’t matter, but for some strange reason, it does. Within me there’s obviously some need to look in charge, to be in control, to be an all knowing, all seeing man about town. Impossible of course, yet we men, do need to feel this way and mostly, kind women, humour us. They certainly don’t look to humiliate us.
Jilly exposes this weakness. She metaphorically rips my head off and spits down my fucking neck. And not just once, no, every time I meet her there’s the same outcome. What a defence mechanism, genius, she’s pure genius. Was pure genius I should say. Past tense, because no one will be seeing Jilly again, and she’ll definitely no longer be getting under my skin. She’ll not be getting under anyone’s skin for that matter. You see, I’ve murdered her. Yep, bashed her silly fucking brains in with a hammer.
“No, not really. I jest. Even though I’ve not killed her, it is clear to me now, I’ll not be seeing Jilly again. I’ll be actively avoiding her from now on, and so, to me, she is dead.”
You might think this a little drastic (slightly less so than murder) however, I’ve taken this decision, because my wellbeing: the health of my mood and my mind, is so important to me now, that I’ll no longer be putting up with the bastards trying to get me down.
It’s not been difficult to work out why Jilly’s this way. Not difficult at all. In fact, she’s fucking transparent, but the thing is, I don’t care. I no longer care that she’s been damaged. I don’t care that she’s lonely. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care. My psyche is the most important aspect here.
People will constantly look to throw stones into the calm pool of our minds; if we let them, that is. This is their point. My whole intention, whenever I meet someone, Jilly included, is to just have a gentle and meaningless interaction with them, that goes no further than ‘how are you?’ and ‘isn’t it a beautiful day?’ Any further than this and we’re generally into game play. I’m bored of the games.
It’s easy to understand why the English only ever talk about the weather, any further on from this, and they’re trying to fuck with each others minds. Such ugly and unnecessary game play. Just leave me be, and all is well.
He is a very good Spanish Guitarist, but sixth in the world, and still busking. Fuck, there really isn’t any hope for us, is there? Or was it all total bollocks invented just for the gameplay? It must be accepted, sometimes even love, isn’t enough. Nice weather we’re having though.