The Collapse of Silly
I woke up around 4:45 AM, I think — had the note about myrmecophagous, so that’s how I know the time. Awoke in a blessedly non-negative mood, for once! I don’t know why. It was sillier than any mood I can recall having in a long time, and it persisted all through the morning, through my interaction with one member of my household.
Then… after interacting with another member of my household, it just died. The funny, silly mood completely evaporated.
It’s not that there was anything overtly negative about the interaction — no altercation, no argument. But I was interacting with somebody who I sometimes see as having their priorities completely screwed up. Someone who can’t think straight, but not in an “oh, it’s morning, I haven’t had my coffee yet” way.
This quality that I observe in them — this inability to properly prioritize human connection — is also what I hate most about myself. It makes me feel unworthy of love, or at least unworthy of being around other people, which amounts to being unworthy of social existence. It’s this obliviousness that can’t figure things out in terms of relevance, that treats people around me as less important than whatever task I’ve set myself. “Oh, I have to do this on my phone, I have to do that on my phone.”
Being interacted with that way feels as though the person forgot who you are. I see it in text messages too, from numerous relatives — the person becomes so focused on crafting the message that the part of their brain evaluating how their words will land goes offline. You read a message and think, “Is this person joking? Did they hit their head? Who is this?”
That’s exactly what people experience when they’re receiving texts from me, which is why I hate texting in general.
It’s so unpleasant to be interacted with through that lens. It’s almost like the person is dismissive of you, barely paying attention because they don’t even realize they’re compromised. They’re acting like whatever they’re doing is as important as the attention they’re giving it. And when you point this out, they’re like, “No, I didn’t say that, I didn’t mean it like that.” I hate having to deal with these two sides of someone — it’s constant gaslighting on top of extraordinarily bad behavior.
But it’s not “bad” like acting out. It’s the exact same stuff I do. It’s being essentially incapable of prioritizing properly in moments, not having access to the part of your brain that would tell you, “Yeah, you could do this later. You don’t have to do this right now.” Nothing’s saying that in your head, so you’re just like, “No, go away, I have to deal with this now.”
The feeling of being dismissed — especially by a person who almost never acts that way, or only acts that way in these extremely weird, unpredictable moments — it steals the smile from your face. It makes what was funny and silly not funny and silly anymore. It just feels sad.
Recognizing this pattern in myself explains why I avoid spontaneous social interactions. I need to prepare, to psych myself up to be present, because I want to avoid inflicting that feeling of dismissal on others. The stakes feel existential: if I can’t fix this tendency in myself, isolation becomes inevitable.
One notable facet that might be present in others who do this — maybe it’s a hint at detecting the tendency— is that when we’re telling stories, we’re always subtly conveying that we were confused by other people’s reactions, without ever admitting to that. I’ll describe everything in a way that’s noticibly flattering: “I did this, I did that, I did this, I did that. And then this other person turned around and did this, and I was like, oh my god, can you believe they did that?”
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And you’re like, “No, I can’t. That would make absolutely no sense. I’m sure the way you described it is not how it happened.”
That lack of self-awareness is poisonous, and I’m talking about myself most of all. You can see it in someone else, and dislike it, but somehow remain blind to your own perpetuation of the exact same patterns.
When I’m in it, all I can think about is the content of the screen. The person who just walked into the room — I can’t switch immediately to them. And if I do switch to them, I can’t switch back. If I acknowledge them and say hi, I won’t be able to figure out what I was trying to do on the screen. So it makes sense why someone wouldn’t switch out — “Excuse me, but I have to finish this totally pointless thing.”
What’s most disturbing about this is the disconnect between intention and capability. The most fundamental skill in life should be knowing what’s important and acting accordingly. But I don’t know what’s important. Even when I do on some level, access to those brain areas that would allow me to prioritize disappears. I’m not evaluating anything. Whatever’s in front of me becomes the most important thing in the world.
I’ve always found this with painting too. I get absorbed in the details, brush stroke after brush stroke, and then I step back and realize I’ve overdone it. I need to check my progress more often, but pulling back to assess requires enormous effort. It’s like that diving game where you keep telling yourself you can grab one more treasure, catch one more fish, even as your oxygen runs low. You stay underwater too long and miss the point entirely.
Maybe it’s discomfort too — just sucking at it. When you’re trying to make yourself pay attention to what the person’s saying in front of you, you’re squinting, wrestling your brain: “What the fuck are they saying to me right now?”
I can sympathize. It just sucks being on the other side of it. I completely understand why someone would say, “I don’t want to interact with you because dealing with you is an emotional tilt-a-whirl, and I’m on my own tilt-a-whirl here. The last thing I need is somebody who’s not managing theirs.”
It’s like somebody claiming to be your sponsor when they’re not clean and not staying clean. “Yeah, I don’t take my sobriety that seriously, but I take yours very seriously.”
The idea of mentorship is that it’s somebody who’s been through whatever it is before — whether it’s woodworking or climbing a dangerous mountain or navigating life experiences. Human beings benefit from a trusted elder, someone with seniority in the domain who can guide you with the confidence of “Listen, I’ve been there before. I’ve felt some of the same feelings, the same temptations, the same pains, the same desire to give up.”
If the mentor figure is half the time being a mentor and half the time not able to figure out what’s important, it puts undue pressure on the mentee to figure out: “Who am I dealing with right now? Am I dealing with the one I’m supposed to shield myself from, or the one where I can be emotionally open?”
You end up shielding yourself from the person. And then they’re like, “Well, I don’t understand. I’m open, I’m here for you now.” But you’re not like that all the time.
It’s worse than the coffee thing — the person before coffee versus after coffee. It’s worse because you can see that the person is not in a zombified phase. They’re able to function. It’s just that the only thing they can function on in that moment is pointless shit — interacting with a screen or something.
And you’re like, “Okay, well, good to know where your priorities lie. I really hope that text message was absolutely perfectly formatted. I’m sure the person reading it is going to be as thrilled by your text message as I am disappointed and hurt by your need to obsess over it right now.”
