SYW: I Give You Permission To Read This Post

The title of this post is quite arrogant, isn’t it. It’s based on a line said by a character in a TV show to another character which was: “I give you permission to like me“.

At first I reacted to hearing it as I think viewers were supposed to react, with eye roll at the narcissistic grandiosity of it. However the character it was said to reacted with relief at those words, they had been very worried that their feelings were becoming a burden to the other, and were happy that they could now like them freely and openly.

That scene gave me food for thought, and since I’m a messy eater, it spilled into other areas.

In some ways when a blogger publishes a post, they’re giving people permission to read it. And when we read a blogger’s post we’re giving ourselves permission to read it.

We also give ourselves permission to like certain things, subjects, music, art, colours, foods, and, of course, people, celebrities, and friends.

Mostly we do all of that subconsciously, but sometimes we do it consciously and may even debate with ourselves, listing pros and cons, about liking something or someone.

We do it too when we become aware that someone likes us – we consider whether we like to be liked by them. And if we don’t like being liked by them, perhaps because they don’t fit into our friend requirement rules, we may exclude them from our friend zone.

Being sized up by other people based on what we like, are like, look like, what we’re wearing, what we’ve said, what we did, where we come from, our family, our background, our education, our work, what our status is, whether we’re socially acceptable, can perform the correct set of social rituals, whether others can relate to us in a manner which is pleasing to them… then waiting for their approval or to be rejected, has made human interaction feel like a talent show.

Did we pass or did we fail to make it through to the next round… who do those judges think they are, just wait until we get to be the judge of them!

Others can be tough judges to please, but perhaps the hardest person to please is ourselves. Do we really ever give ourselves permission to like ourselves? Or is that too arrogant?

Anyway, all of that leads to this:

Melanie of Sparks From A Combustible Mind’s Share Your World 1-7-19

Did you have to help out with chores when you were growing up?  If so, what were you assigned to do?

I was banned from helping with chores due to my being a mistake-making mess.

My mother was a perfectionist and I did everything imperfectly. Giving me a task to accomplish inevitably lead to her having to clean up the disaster I’d made while trying to help. The floor tiles were smeary, I’d used too much polish on the gates, I’d missed a weed on the cobblestone drive, I’d splashed too much water while doing the dishes, my hospital corners had made the sheet on the bed too tight…

There was just so much she could take before she decided that she’d had it up to here (hand gesturing to some level way over her head) with my uselessness, my faults, flaws, wrong-doing, and failure to do things properly.

So I was assigned the role of spoiled brat by both of my parents because it got them loads of sympathy when they bitched about me to others.

“Is she the only one at fault? For though she’s spoiled, and dreadfully so, A girl can’t spoil herself, you know. Who spoiled her, then? Ah, who indeed? Who pandered to her every need? Who turned her into such a brat? Who are the culprits? Who did that? Alas! You needn’t look so far To find out who these sinners are. They are (and this is very sad) Her loving parents, MUM and DAD. And that is why we’re glad they fell Into the garbage chute as well.”

― Roald Dahl, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Have you ever researched your family tree?   What do you know about your family’s roots? 

Once upon a time in school, for History class, we were given a homework assignment to create our family tree to help us kids be a little less disinterested in and understand Royal family trees.

I didn’t get very far with that project because trying to get a straight answer from my parents was an impossibility, especially when it came to things which they viewed as part of their great identity. My father was a descendant of Arab Princes, and my mother was Eleanor of Aquitaine in a past life.

I couldn’t ask anyone else in our family because I wasn’t allowed to talk to them for various reasons which changed with my parents’ moods.

By the time I was old enough to look into those kinds of things myself, I’d had enough of family matters.

What’s your cure for hiccups?

I haven’t had hiccups in years (famous last words… those would be very amusing last words engraved on a headstone).

I did read up on it when I used to get them and it’s apparently caused by the diaphragm being irritated, so I would focus on relaxing my diaphragm and it seemed to help.

“I think hiccup cures were really invented for the amusement of the patient’s friends.”

― Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

What makes you roll your eyes every time you hear it?  Either figuratively or literally?

I roll my eyes fairly regularly at myself and the things I say, since I have a lazy eye it’s good exercise for it but the other eye doesn’t see why it should work out all because of lazy.

When it comes to others, it’s usually when someone is being nacissisticky, especially super-sneaky-narcissisticky (like my father) or holier-than-thou-narcissisticky (like my mother).

The super-sneaky-narcissisticky is the classic smartest person in the room with a Muttley chuckle.

They think everyone else is an idiot, however they need those idiots to achieve some goal they’ve set themselves – like Social Media popularity – so they spend a lot of time being a lecca lecca (Italian for lollipop, used as slang for kiss-ass).

Signs and symptoms include thinking they’ve thought of something nobody else has ever thought of to win the popularity competition and aren’t they a clever clot (there’s a very good reason why other people aren’t using that tactic, but that kind of thought doesn’t occur to a narcissticky person).

If they’re out to woo Followers, they’ll ‘Like’ everything you post, and make stiff complimentary comments (which often have a barb in them because they really hate you and having to be nice to you – they’d better get what they want after all the effort they’re putting in) on every post.

Their own posts will be based on what the popular people they want to be, have studied and copied, do. They won’t share anything truly personal as they’re wearing a persona which isn’t theirs, but there’ll be little narcissistic ‘mistakes’ which they don’t realise they’re making that give away how little they think of the idiots they’re following and who are following them (you’d better be following them after everything they’ve done for you).

The Holier-than-thou-narcissisticky is a saint and martyr preaching to a world of sinners. They also believe they’re the smartest person on the planet and think everyone else is an idiot. They don’t need those idiots, those idiots need them and their pearls of wisdom, knowledge and high IQ.

We are not worthy, they regularly tell us so, but they are generously allowing us to benefit from their experience of being superior and better than all of us – anything you say or do, they’ve said or done it better, and will gladly share their long list of achievements.

These people love to pontificate. It might be interesting if they didn’t make it so incredibly tedious – they’re like those History books which make the crazy, wild, exciting times of the past just a bunch of facts, stats, names, dates, and Royal family trees.

The Murder of Andrew, Duke of Calabria by order of his wife, Joanna I of Naples by Hans Bryullov

I wonder if the Duke of Calabria had hiccups, and his wife ordered someone to help cure him of it but the cure turned into a kill and historians decided to alter the facts to make it less embarrassing for everyone involved.

Finally: Share a gratitude or positive moment or experience from 2019 so far.

Last night my mother appeared in a dream. That hasn’t happened in a long time for which I am very grateful.

It was night. I was in an old 1930’s style car with her. She was in the driver’s seat. I don’t know where we were going but she took a shortcut which ended up at a dead end on the edge of a private stately home.

She turned to me angrily and blamed me for her mistake, telling me it was all my fault, she would never have taken that shortcut if it hadn’t been for me forcing her to do so (I didn’t, but that’s irrelevant when dealing with the self-righteous).

The lord of the manor turned up to find out what all the ruckus was about, and to make sure we didn’t trespass on his property.

We switched places. I took the driver’s seat, turned the car around and drove back the way we’d come. My mother was still harping on and on about how this was all my fault, how I’d embarrassed her, she was perfect, the mistake wasn’t hers, etc.

I slammed on the breaks, turned to her and told her to shut it. That I was fed up of being blamed for what was clearly her mistake and it was time she owned her shit because I wasn’t going to be her chamber pot anymore.

I was right in her face – her face filled the whole dream screen. Her expression went from stubbornly determined righteous indignation to complete blankness.

The dream ended shortly after that. I think I woke myself up so that I would remember that moment. Usually when my mother appears in dreams she’s a symbol of intense frustration which won’t resolve itself, but this time it… was resolved.

That was a cool positive.

Featured image is a photograph of a painting, On The Tube by Emanuele Taglieri, at the Castello Aragonese