Friday, July 23, 2010

Blood type?

It's difficult to avoid type casting, even when there's no stage involved. We do it all the time. This person acts this way so they must be this way. That person lives that way so they must be that way.

It isn't fair. But, wait for it, who said life was fair? Can you hear your momma talking right now?

I think human nature (or animal nature) dictates that we must, in order to survive, take the other beings that we see and meet and put them into little mind categories. That way we know what to expect every time we come in to contact with that "being." Our brain is reminded, the Rolodex of the mind lights up, and as we are carrying on a conversation about the weather or work or kids, the lists and lists of categories are running full speed. There are two engines working and, I would say sadly, the inner engine prevails.

"Hey, how was work today?" comes out of the mouth, but the mind says, "Hey, when the f*ck are you gonna ask me about my day? They told me you were a selfish prick, but wow."

Or, "Wow, thanks for making dinner, that was great." Backlog: "So weird that you made dinner because I pegged you for the kind of guy that rarely has a clean pair of boxers to wear."

These, of course are milder examples of what the inner dialogue is capable of. Then, oh then, there is the nitty gritty stuff.

"Oh, wow, you still have back pain, huh? That sucks, it's been forever." Translation: "Your back is f*cking fine, but I'm thinking your addiction to oxy is what's getting in your way."

Or, "Oh, he doesn't want to play football anymore? Why? I thought he loved it." Becomes: "Whatever, that kid's wanted to play since he could walk, you're just too damn lazy to drive him to practice. He's gonna be a quitter just like you, you keep this up."

I don't know exactly what the origins of these categories are, but they are merciless, I guess, just like nature. There is no room to expand, or to be surprised, or to forgive if the walls are unmoving. The player will always be a player even if he falls in love. The addict will always be selfish, even if he has compassion bursting out of his chest. The icy b*tch will always keep a cool glare, even if she's been smiling for more than half her life.

But let's say we get rid of all that. We rise above what we think we know about someone, even above what our guts tell us...let's say we smash the Rolodex with a Louisville and suddenly decide that the categories aren't worth it. Ahh, so freeing, so new...
The danger (or I daresay the outcome) is that it may be too late. We are a reflection of ourselves after all.


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